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THE  POETS  OF  TKANSCENDENTALISM 


THE  POETS  OF 

TRANSCENDENTALISM 

an 


EDITED   BY 

GEORGE  WILLIS  COOKE 

WITH  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY  AND 
BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTES 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

<<Ebe  fiiucrsiDc  press*,  Cambridge 

1903 


COPYRIGHT   1903   BY   HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   &  CO. 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  March,  iy>3 


PS 

607 


PREFACE 

KECENTLY,  in  making  a  somewhat  careful  and  \  — ^ 
extended  study  of  New  England  transcendentalism, 
I  was  impressed  anew  by  the  poetry  it  produced. 
I  found  that  much  of  it  had  not  been  republished, 
and  was  to  be  found  only  in  the  pages  of  such 
periodicals  as  "  The  Dial,"  "  The  Radical,"  and 
"The  Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy."  It 
seemed  to  me  that  a  representative  collection  of 
the  poetry  influenced  by  transcendentalism  would 
serve  to  indicate  how  largely  that  movement  had 
affected  American  literature,  and  also  to  make 
accessible  those  poems  that  had  been  neglected. 
In  making  this  selection  of  verse  it  has  not  been 
my  aim  to  choose  only  what  is  best,  but  rather 
to  give  specimens  of  the  poetical  output  of  that 
movement.  The  selections  taken  from  Emer- 
son, Lowell,  and  others  have  been  drawn  from  the 
pages  of  the  periodicals  in  which  transcendental- 
ism found  expression,  in  order  that  they  may  be 
indicative  of  the  influence  coming  to  these  poets 
from  that  source.  Some  of  the  poems  chosen,  for 


PREFACE 


that  reason,  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  collected 
works  of  these  poets.  These  early,  uncollected,  or 
discarded  poems  are  expressive  of  one  or  another 
phase  of  what  transcendentalism  was  to  the  youth 
who  accepted  it  in  the  flush  of  its  dawn.  I  have 
made  the  collection  an  inclusive  one,  without 
attempting  to  select  from  every  poet  or  writer 
of  verses  who  came  into  contact  with  transcen- 
dentalism. If  the  collection  has  a  large  number 
of  religious  poems  it  is  because  this  movement 
was  deeply  religious  in  its  nature  and  in  its  in- 
fluence. 

I  have  to  acknowledge  the  friendly  and  generous 
permission  to  use  their  poems  given  me  by  Samuel 
G.  Ward,  Sydney  H.  Morse,  Thomas  W.  Higgin- 
son,  George  S.  Burleigh,  Julia  W.  Howe,  Ednah 
D.  Cheney,  John  Burroughs,  Franklin  B.  Sanborn, 
Joel  Benton,  Augusta  C.  Bristol,  Anna  C.  Brack- 
ett,  Francis  E.  Abbot,  John  W.  Chadwick,  William 
C.  Gannett,  and  Frederick  L.  Hosmer.  I  am  also 
indebted  to  Professor  Charles  E.  Norton  for  per- 
mission to  use  Lowell's  poems,  and  to  Mr.  Edward 
W.  Emerson  for  the  use  of  those  of  his  father. 
Little,  Brown  &  Company  and  Lee  &  Shepard 
have  granted  me  the  use  of  poems  published  by 
them.  To  McClure,  Phillips  &  Company  I  am 


PREFACE 


indebted  for  permission  to  use  one  of  the  poems 
of  John  Burroughs ;  and  to  the  publishers  of 
"Harper's  Monthly  Magazine"  and  "The  Inde- 
pendent "  for  the  use  of  poems  by  Joel  Benton. 

G.  W.  C. 


vii 


CONTENTS 

PAOB 

INTRODUCTION 1 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

EACH  AND  ALL 33 

THE  RHODORA 35 

THE  PROBLEM 36 

THE  ETKHNAL  PAN 39 

FATE 41 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

THE  FRANKNESS  OF  NATURE 44 

THE  POET'S  OBEDIENCE 44 

To  IRENE  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 45 

WISDOM  OF  THE  ETERNAL  ONE 46 

WINTER 47 

LOVE  REFLECTED  IN  NATURE 48 

THE  STREET 49 

BlBLIOLATRES 50 

DIVINE  TEACHERS 51 

TRUE  NOBLENESS 52 

AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 

MAN 53 

APPROACHING  GOD 53 

MATTER 53 

FRIENDSHIP 54 

EXCELLENCE 54 

THE  SEER'S  RATIONS 57 

DR.  CHANNINO: 59 

59 

b 


CONTENTS 


.  HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU. 

STANZAS,  "NATURE  DOTH  HAVE  HER  DAWN  EACH 

DAY" 62 

INSPIRATION 63 

MY  PRAYER 67 

RUMORS  FROM  AN  J^OLIAN  HARP 68 

CONSCIENCE 69 

THE  INWARD  MORNING 71 

LINES,  "ALL  THINGS  ARE  CURRENT  FOUND"     .    .  73 

MY  LIFE 74 

MARGARET  FULLER. 

LIFE  A  TEMPLE 75 

ENCOURAGEMENT 77 

SUB  ROSA,  CRUX 80 

DRYAD  SONG 83 

CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRANCH. 

GNOSIS 85 

CORRESPONDENCES 86 

THE  OCEAN 89 

I  IN  THEE,  AND  THOU  IN  ME 92 

HUMAN  HELPERS 94 

So  FAR,  so  NEAR 95 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

THOUGHTS 97 

CONTENT J01 

A  POET'S  HOPE 102 


UNA.    .    .    . 
To  THE  POETS 


104 
105 


HYMN  OF  THE  EARTH 106 

NATURE 107 

PRIMAVERA,  THE  BREATH  OF  SPRING 108 

CONFESSIO  AMANTIS 109 

x 


CONTENTS 


JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE. 

HYMN  AND  PBAYER Ill 

FREDERIC  HENRY  HEDGE. 

QUESTIONINGS 114 

JOHN  SULLIVAN  DWIQHT. 

REST 117 

WOBK  WHILE  IT  18   DAY 118 

MUSIC! 119 

ELIZA  THAYER  CLAPP. 

"  THE  FUTURE  is  BETTER  THAN  THE  PAST  "...  120 

HYMN  TO  THE  GOD  OF  STABS 122 

CHARLES  TIMOTHY  BROOKS. 

THE  GBEAT  VOICES 126 

THE  VOICE  or  THE  PINE 127 

ELLEN  HOOPER. 

BEAUTY  AND  DUTY 128 

THE  STRAIGHT  ROAD 128 

THE  HEABT'S  CUBE 128 

THE  POET 129 

THE  NOBLY  BOBN 131 

THE  GOAL 133 

WAYFABEBS 133 

THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP 134 

HYMN  OF  A  SPDJIT  SHBOUDED 135 

ONE  ABOUT  TO  DIE 136 

To  R.  W.  E. 136 

THE  Wooo-FiBE 137 

To  THE  IDEAL 139 

CAROLINE  TAPPAN. 

ABT  AND  ABTIST 141 

AFTERNOON 141 

n 


CONTENTS 

= 

LINES,  "  You  GO  TO  THE  WOODS  : 


142 

THE  BROOK 142 

THE  HERO 143 


CHARLES  ANDERSON  DANA. 


HERZLIEBSTE 


145 


VIA  SACRA I45 

ETERNITY 146 

AD  ARMA! 147 

THE  BANKRUPT 148 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

SPRING  SONG 149 

EBB  AND  FLOW 149 

JONES  VERY. 

THE  BARBERRY-BUSH 151 

THE  PRAYER 151 

THE  PRESENCE 153 

THE  SON 153 

THE  SPIRIT  LAND 154 

THE  VIOLET 155 

THE  IDLER 155 

THE  LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 156 

HEALTH  OF  BODY  DEPENDENT  ON  THE  SOUL  .     .     .  157 

THE  SILENT 158 

NATURE 159 

THEODORE  PARKER. 

THE  HIGHER  GOOD 161 

THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  THE  LIFE 161 

SAMUEL  GRAY  WARD. 

THE  CONSOLERS 163 

THE  SHIELD 163 

xii 


CONTENTS 


DAVID  ATWOOD  WASSON. 

IDEALS 165 

SEEN  AND  UNSEEN 166 

ALL'S  WELL 169 

LOVE  AGAINST  LOVE 172 

ROYALTY 173 

SYDNEY  HENRY  MORSE. 

Two  MOODS 175 

OPEN  SECRET 176 

SUNDEBED 176 

TILL  LOVE  BE  WHOLE 178 

THE  WAY 179 

WAIFS 180 

SERVICE 180 

THE  VICTORY 182 

JOHN  WEISS. 

BLEST  SPIRIT  OF  MY  LIFE 183 

SAADI'S  THINKING 184 

MY  Two  QUESTS 186 

METHOD 190 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIQGINSON. 

THE  THINGS  I  MISS 192 

HEIRS  OF  TIME 193 

A  JAR  OF  ROSE-LEAVES 194 

ODE  TO  A  BUTTERFLY 196 

GEORGE  SHEPARD  BURLEIGH. 

DARE  AND  KNOW 199 

THE  IDEAL  WINS 199 

IMMANUEL 200 

OUB  BIRTHRIGHT 202 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

===== 

WILLIAM  HENRY  FURNESS. 


THE  SOUL 205 


EVENING 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

FOB  DIVINE  STRENGTH 
INSPIRATION    .... 


SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW. 

LOOKING  UNTO  GOD 

THE  CHURCH  UNIVERSAL 212 


ELIZA  SCUDDER. 

aOD 

EE 

216 


THB  LOVE  OF  GOD 214 

WHOM  BUT  THEE 215 


No  MORE  SEA 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 


LOVE'S  FULFILLING 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 


LIFE 


217 


THANKSGIVING  ..............       218 

VESPER  HYMN    ..............    22° 

THE  QUEST  ...............       222 


224 


'NOT  AS  I  WILL" 225 

SPINNING 227 

HYMN  :  "  I  CANNOT  THINK  BUT  GOD  MUST  KNOW  "  229 

THE  LOVE  OF  GOD 23° 


231 


THE  FUTURE 231 

A  PRAYER 233 

WlEGENLIED 234 

FORCE 235 

TRANQUILLITY 237 

PEACE 238 

xiv 


CONTENTS 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

STANZAS:  "0?  THE  HEAVEN  IB  GENERATION"  .    .  240 

WARNING 240 

THE  PBICE  OF  THE  DIVTNA  COMMEDIA 241 

THE  HOOSE  OF  REST 243 

EDNAH  DOW  CHENEY. 

PRATER 246 

WAITING  II F.I.I- 248 

"I   SHALL   BE  SATISFIED   WHEN  I  AWAKE   WITH  THY 


JOHN  BURROUGHS. 

WAITING 251 

GOLDEN  CROWN  SPARROW  OF  ALASKA 252 

FRANKLIN  BENJAMIN  SANBORN. 

ANATHBMATA 254 

EMERSON 255 

JOHN  ALBEE. 

ARS  POETICA  ET  HUMANA 259 

Music  AND  MEMORY 260 

REMEMBERED  LOVE 260 

JOEL  BENTON. 

THE  POET 262 

THE  WHIPPOORWILL 263 

WELTSCHMERZ  .  264 


AUGUSTA  COOPER  BRISTOL. 

A  SUMMER  MORNING  HOUR  WITH  NATURE  ....  266 

SOMEWHERE 269 

THE  OLD  SONG  AND  THB  NEW 270 

ART  SERVICE 274 

xv 


CONTENTS 


ANNA  CALLENDER  BRACKETT. 

BEETHOVEN 278 

FOUR  WHITE  LILIES 280 

DENIAL 281 

COMPREHENSION 283 

FRANCIS  ELLINGWOOD  ABBOT. 

GODWARD 285 

MATINS 286 

A  BIETH-DAY  PRAYER 287 

JOHN  WHITE  CHADWICK. 

NIRVANA 289 

A  SONG  OF  TRUST 292 

AULD  LANG  SYNE 295 

WILLIAM  CHANNING  GANNETT. 

"  WHO  WERT   AND  ART   AND   EVERMORE    SHALT  BE  "  .  297 

THE  HIGHWAY 298 

THE  WORD  OF  GOD 299 

LISTENING  FOR  GOD      : 301 

FREDERICK  LUCIAN  HOSMER. 

THE  THOUGHT  OF  GOD 303 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  GOD 304 

NOTES 307 

INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 329 

INDEX  OF  TITLES  .  337 


xvi 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION 

TRANSCENDENTALISM  AND  AMERICAN  POETRY 

THE  transcendental  movement  yet  remains  the 
most  important  influence  that  has  affected  Ameri- 
can literature.  Whatever  were  its  defects  —  and 
they  were  many — it  was  a  creative  power,  and 
it  gave  us  our  greatest  poetry.  It  is  unjust  to 
regard  it  as  an  importation  from  Europe,  that 
might  have  been  excluded  by  laws  against  aliens. 
If  the  influence  of  Carlyle,  Coleridge,  Goethe,  and 
Cousin  was  considerable,  the  seed  they  sowed  fell 
upon  good  ground  here,  and  speedily  germinated. 
The  soil  was  already  prepared  for  it,  and  it  sprang 
up  as  if  it  were  indigenous.  Indeed,  it  is  more 
just  to  our  poets  to  claim  that  transcendentalism 
was  native  to  America  than  to  assert  of  it  that 
it  came  from  abroad.  Its  qualities  had  been  in 
the  American  mind  for  generations,  perhaps  from 
the  first  coming  of  the  Puritans.  It  tempered  the 
teachings  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  and  it  was  even 
in  the  sermons  of  Peter  Bulkeley,  Emerson's  ear- 
3 


INTRODUCTION 


liest  American  forbear.  The  "  New  Divinity  " 
of  the  eighteenth  century  was  touched  by  it,  and 
Channing  was  deeply  informed  by  its  life  and 
spirit. 

It  is  not  true  to  what  is  known  as  "  the  tran- 
scendental movement,"  however,  to  say  that  it  was 
a  thing  by  itself  or  a  manifestation  of  a  partic- 
ular type  of  thought.  It  was  democracy  in  contact 
with  Puritanism,  to  define  it  historically.  The  free 
spirit  awakened  by  the  establishment  of  national 
independence  on  a  basis  of  liberty  and  the  rights 
of  man,  coming  into  contact  with  the  deep  reli- 
giousness of  Puritanism,  and  its  profound  faith  in 
God,  gave  origin  to  this  movement.  It  was  helped 
to  its  formation,  but  not  created,  by' European  phi- 
losophy. English  and  German  thinking  precipi- 
tated the  older  elements,  and  gave  us  the  new  com- 
pound, it  may  be ;  but  this  result  was  certain  to 
come  to  pass,  even  without  the  foreign  aid. 

Transcendentalism  was  a  movement  of  inquiry, 
revolt  against  conventionality,  and  assertion  of 
the  worth  and  dignity  of  man.  It  declared  that 
religion  is  natural  to  man,  that  he  may  trust  his 
own  instincts,  that  individual  freedom  is  essential 
to  a  large  and  wise  living,  and  that  spiritual  insight 
is  a  direct  revelation  from  God.  The  movement 
4 


INTRODUCTION 


thus  developed  had  a  large  influence  upon  Ameri- 
can poetry.  It  may  be  justly  said  to  have  been 
the  formative  power  that  produced  our  best  liter- 
ature. It  is  impossible  to  separate  it  from  the 
names  of  Emerson,  Lowell,  Thoreau,  Whittier, 
Whitman,  and  a  large  company  of  our  lesser  poets 
and  prose  writers.  That  phase  of  it  shown  in  the 
teaching  of  Wordsworth  deeply  touched  the  poetry 
of  Bryant,  and  Longfellow  was  by  no  means  out- 
side its  movement  and  its  spirit. 

This  movement  influenced  not  only  poetry,  but 
all  forms  of  writing  and  thinking.  It  was  not  less 
creative  in  the  results  it  produced  upon  religion 
than  upon  literature.  It  showed  itself  in  a  splen- 
did outburst  of  oratory,  that  carried  its  temper  and 
its  convictions  widely  throughout  the  country.  It 
manifested  its  idealism  in  numberless  movements 
for  social  amelioration  and  practical  reforms.  It 
was  often  fanatical,  sometimes  crude  and  preten- 
tious ;  and  it  was  even  arrogant  and  domineering. 
With  all  its  limitations,  however,  it  was  full  of  life 
and  inspiration,  —  noble  in  motive,  wise  in  con- 
ception, and  heroic  in  its  loyalty  to  human  wel- 
fare. Its  tendencies  and  purposes,  especially  as 
seen  in  the  poetry  it  produced,  may  claim  from  us 
a  just  recognition. 

5 


INTRODUCTION 


The  transcendentalist  maintained  that  the  one  re- 
ality is  spirit.  Spirit  is  a  unity,  but  it  is  also  uni- 
versal. In  the  deepest  sense  spirit  is  one,  though 
it  may  have  many  manifestations.  God  is  the  heart 
of  all  creation,  said  Emerson  ;  and  the  heart  of 
every  creature.  The  one  spirit  shines  in  every 
human  soul,  which  is  nothing  apart  from  that 
through  which  it  lives.  For  the  individual  soul 
the  universe  has  existence  only  through  the  Uni- 
versal Spirit,  which  is  the  essence  of  the  being  of 
both  the  individual  and  the  universal. 

The  transcendentalists  often  appear  to  deny  the 
personality  of  man,  to  make  him  only  a  manifes- 
tation of  God.  In  reality,  they  laid  the  greatest 
emphasis  upon  personality,  and  made  of  each  indi- 
vidual man  a  distinct  and  unique  expression  of  the 
Infinite  Spirit.  The  Over  Soul  is  one  in  all  men, 
and  yet  its  manifestation  in  each  is  positive  and 
radical.  That  which  makes  man  to  be  man,  to 
have  a  character  and  personality  of  his  own,  to  be 
different  from  all  other  creatures  and  men,  is  his 
immediate  connection  with  the  Universal  Spirit, 
which  manifests  itself  in  him  in  a  unique  manner. 
The  Spirit  blossoms  out  in  a  new  form  in  each  in- 
dividual man,  indeed,  as  a  fresh  and  distinct  crea- 
tion. The  connection  of  the  individual  soul  with 


INTRODUCTION 


the  Over  Soul  is  continuous.  When  the  individ- 
ual so  wishes,  when  he  keeps  his  mind  clear  and 
his  heart  pure,  and  when  his  soul  is  freely  open  to 
the  life  of  the  Spirit,  inspiration  will  come  to 
him  according  to  his  need.  He  may  shut  out  this 
light  because  he  refuses  to  accept  it,  or  because  he 
does  not  make  himself  fit  for  the  inflowing  of  this 
higher  life  ;  but  when  his  soul  is  open  and  his  life 
pure  he  can  always  have  the  indwelling  of  the 
Spirit. 

Individuality  was  the  one  essential  word  and 
thought  of  the  transcendentalists,  and  it  was  what 
the  word  connotes  in  which  they  believed  most 
strongly.  Emerson  insisted  in  his  "  Fate  "  that 
each  man  must  be  himself,  live  his  own  life,  and 
think  his  own  thought.  He  would  not  have  the  indi- 
vidual dependent  upon  the  activities  and  interests 
of  other  men,  as  he  declares  in  "  Suum  Cuique  ;  " 
but  he  would  have  them  ever  self-centred  and  inde- 
pendent. Hence  it  was  that  he  preached  self-reli- 
ance with  an  insistence  that  sometimes  makes  it 
seem  the  only  teaching  he  had  to  offer.  He  car- 
ried this  doctrine  to  such  positive  statement  as  to 
appear  to  isolate  the  individual,  and  to  give  him 
no  genuine  relations  with  other  men.  The  atomic 
social  theory  was  stated  in  plainest  terms  by 
7 


We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils; 

Man  by  man  was  never  seen; 
All  our  deep  communing  fails 

To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 

Heart  to  heart  was  never  known; 

Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet; 
We  are  columns  left  alone 

Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 

Far  apart  though  seeming  near, 
In  our  light  we  scattered  lie; 

All  is  thus  but  starlight  here. 

This  conception  of  the  individual  as  an  isolated 
atom  with  reference  to  other  individuals,  with 
which  it  can  have  no  intimate  connection,  showed 
itself  in  a  frequent  insistence  upon  the  right  of  a 
man  to  act  independently  of  other  men.  For  the 
sake  of  individual  perfection,  in  order  that  the  full 
measure  of  development  may  be  reached,  the  indi- 
vidual ought  to  ignore  social  restrictions,  and  insist 
upon  his  own  right  to  personal  expression.  This 
was  emphatically  stated  by  Thoreau  in  his  "  Con- 
science," wherein  he  said,  — 
8 


INTRODUCTION 


I  love  a  soul  not  all  of  wood, 
Predestinated  to  be  good, 
But  true  to  the  backbone 
Unto  itself  alone, 
And  false  to  none. 

The  last  clause  appears  to  qualify  the  emphatic  indi- 
vidualism of  this  position,  and  to  give  recognition  to 
social  obligations ;  but  the  insistence  upon  the  right 
to  personal  development  and  assertion  is  so  strong 
that  all  else  disappears  in  comparison.  To  be  one's 
self  is  made  the  absolute  controlling  interest  and 
purpose  of  life. 

This  metaphysical  atomism  is  almost  inevitable, 
in  view  of  the  transcendentalist's  doctrine  of  con- 
tinuous inspiration  to  the  soul  that  is  fit  therefor. 
When  the  source  of  truth  is  not  human,  the  result 
of  experience  and  of  social  growth,  but  of  direct 
contact  of  the  individual  soul  with  the  Over  Soul, 
it  follows  that  the  individual  seeks  in  himself  truth 
and  guidance.  What  other  men  think  does  not 
concern  him.  To  the  universal  experiences  of  the 
race  he  is  indifferent.  Racial  inspiration  he  re- 
gards as  impossible,  and  for  the  genius  of  a  people 
he  has  no  concern.  But  let  us  not  overlook  the 
actual  faith  of  the  transcendentalist.  In  reality, 
Emerson's  "  self-reliance  "  is  God-reliance.  It  is 
9 


INTKODUCTION 


trust  in  the  inward  truth  that  comes  to  the  soul 
from  its  immediate  contact  with  the  Over  Soul. 
"  The  Problem  "  is  a  statement  of  this  doctrine  of 
direct  personal  inspiration,  which  is  the  source, 
according  to  Emerson,  of  all  genius  as  manifested 
in  art,  literature,  or  religion. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  Soul  that  o'er  him  planned. 

For  the  genius  this  is  true,  in  the  thought  of  the 
transcendentalist ;  and  for  the  common  man  not 
less.  Whatever  of  life  and  capacity  is  in  either  is 
the  result  of  his  inspiration  received  from  the  Over 
Soul.  In  himself  he  can  do  nothing.  It  is  the 
Over  Soul  that  does  all  things  through  him,  using 
his  powers  for  other  ends  than  his  own.  The 
Voice  is  always  speaking,  says  Lowell  in  "  Bibli- 
olatres,"  and  whoever  will  listen  intently  enough, 
in  the  right  way,  will  hear  its  word  of  life.  Not 
only  are  the  Bibles  of  the  world  its  utterances, 
but  in  all  times  and  in  all  men  it  speaks  its  divine 
word.  Thoreau  held  that  the  poet  cannot  sing 
truly  without  this  inward  contact  with  the  Over 
Soul.  It  brings  him  gift  of  song,  and  it  gives  him 
eternal  things  to  sing. 

I  hear  beyond  the  range  of  sound, 
I  see  beyond  the  range  of  sight. 
10 


INTRODUCTION 


Lowell  was  deeply  influenced  in  his  early  life  by 
this  conception  of  the  mission  of  the  poet  He  seems 
to  have  believed  that  there  can  be  no  true  poetry 
written  without  the  direct  aid  of  the  Over  Soul. 
His  biographer  says  of  the  period  when  he  was 
writing  his  "  Conversations  on  Some  of  the  Old 
Poets,"  that  "  he  more  than  once  hinted  darkly 
that  he  was  not  writing  the  book,  but  was  the 
spokesman  for  sages  and  poets  who  used  him  as 
their  means  of  communication."  That  he  was  the 
spokesman  of  the  Over  Soul  was  Lowell's  strong 
belief  at  this  period,  for  we  find  him  writing  in  a 
letter,  ••  I  have  always  been  a  very  Quaker  in  fol- 
lowing the  Light,  and  writing  only  when  the  Spirit 
moved."  In  September,  1842,  he  described  a 
conversation  in  which  this  feeling  of  divine  contact 
was  almost  overpowering.  "I  had  a  revelation 
last  Friday  evening.  As  I  was  speaking  the  whole 
system  rose  up  before  me  like  a  vague  Destiny 
looming  from  the  abyss.  I  never  before  so  clearly 
felt  the  spirit  of  God  in  me  and  around  me.  The 
'  whole  room  seemed  to  me  full  of  God.  The  air 
seemed  to  wave  to  and  fro  with  the  presence  of 
Something,  I  knew  not  what.  I  spoke  with  the 
calmness  and  clearness  of  a  prophet." 

Even  more  distinctly  was  this  conception  of  im- 
11 


INTRODUCTION 


mediate  revelation  that  of  Jones  Very,  who  main- 
tained that  he  was  only  the  spokesman  of  the 
higher  powers.  He  claimed  that  his  sonnets  on 
religious  subjects  contained  a  message  "  given 
him  "  by  the  Spirit.  In  sending  to  Emerson  the 
manuscript  of  his  essays  and  poems,  he  wrote :  "  I 
am  glad  at  last  to  transmit  what  has  been  told  me 
of  Shakespeare.  You  hear  not  mine  own  words, 
but  the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Ghost."  What  he 
wrote,  was  his  belief,  "  came  "  to  him,  and  was  not 
the  product  of  his  own  mind.  The  Voice  uttered 
itself  through  him,  and  he  was  but  the  medium  of 
its  expression.  He  said  of  what  he  had  written  : 
"  I  value  these  verses,  not  because  they  are  mine, 
but  because  they  are  not."  This  conception  of 
immediate  contact  with  the  Over  Soul  was  widely 
accepted  by  the  transcendentalists,  and  it  had  a 
large  influence  upon  their  poetry  and  its  literary 
content. 

They  also  held  that  this  inward  conception  of 
life  is  one  of  large  hope  to  the  toiler,  and  of  pa- 
tience to  those  who  cannot  labor.  It  is  the  source 
of  life,  the  joy  of  living,  in  every  one  who  truly 
lives.  In  so  far  as  he  dwells  in  the  Over  Soul 
does  he  realize  in  himself  the  meaning  and  the  worth 
of  life.  And  it  was  this  conception  of  man's  rela- 
12 


INTRODUCTION 


tions  to  the  Over  Soul  that  made  Emerson  say, 
that  all  we  can  learn  by  travel  is  to  be  known  at 
home.  Europe  can  give  us  nothing  of  life  that  is 
unknown  in  Concord,  simply  because  the  deep  ex- 
periences of  life,  those  that  enrich  mind  and  heart, 
are  the  gift  of  the  Spirit.  They  are  not  the  result 
of  contact  with  other  men,  the  study  of  the  social 
products  of  ages  of  human  endeavor  in  the  past, 
but  of  immediate  touch  with  the  informing  spirit 
of  life.  It  is  not  man  who  is  our  teacher,  but  the 
Over  Soul.  We  need  not  have  the  highest  truths 
mediated  to  us  through  art,  literature,  philosophy ; 
but  the  spirit  informs  us  out  of  its  own  rich  and 
abundant  life.  The  Over  Soul  can  reach  us  at  home 
as  readily,  and  even  with  greater  certainty,  than 
in  foreign  lands.  What  the  Soul  reveals  cannot  be 
added  to  by  going  up  and  down  in  the  world.  It 
is  even  true  that  the  outward  shows  hinder  us  from 
the  true  things  of  the  inward  life.  In  quietness 
and  humbleness  of  spirit  we  learn  what  cannot  be 
revealed  amidst  the  noises  and  distractions  of  the 
world.  It  is  this  conception  of  the  worth  of  in- 
ward human  experiences  that  made  Ellery  Chan- 
ning  say,  in  his  "  Confessio  Amantis,"  that  he 
knew  all  that  even  the  greatest  men  have  gained 
from  life. 

13 


INTRODUCTION 


Dion  or  Caesar  drained  no  more, 
Not  Solon,  nor  a  Plato's  lore  ; 
So  much  had  they  the  power  to  do, 
So  much  hadst  thou,  and  equals  too. 

It  is  this  conception  of  the  relations  of  the  poet 
to  the  Over  Soul  that  makes  him  a  seer  and  a  pro- 
phet. This  oracular  mood  is  in  much  of  Emerson's 
writing,  and  it  is  in  that  of  many  of  the  other 
transcendentalist  writers.  It  gives  peculiarity  to 
the  works  of  Thoreau,  Alcott,  Margaret  Fuller, 
and  many  others.  They  are  speaking  with  the 
authority  of  a  higher  life  than  their  own.  This 
gives  them  an  attitude  of  immense  egotism  on  oc- 
casion. If  the  individuality  is  not  too  insistent, 
it  gives  force,  dignity,  power,  to  the  words  they 
employ ;  and  a  high  ethical  quality.  Emerson  often 
seems  to  speak  in  tones  of  command,  to  utter  eter- 
nal words.  We  tire  of  this  quality  when  it  is  too 
persistent,  however,  for  the  lofty  height,  the  de- 
mand for  what  we  have  not  attained,  repels  us,  and 
makes  rebellion  necessary.  We  joy  in  it  at  times, 
but  we  cannot  always  breathe  the  mountain  air. 
And  yet,  Emerson  is  so  much  the  rebel  against  all 
that  is  presumptuous,  dogmatic,  opinionated,  that 
he  takes  sides  himself  against  whatever  is  authori- 
tative in  his  own  words.  He  is  a  seer,  but  not 
14 


INTRODUCTION 


one  who  commands  the  loyalty  of  other  men  to  his 
own  beliefs. 

Inwardness  is  a  frequent  note  of  the  transcen- 
dental poet.  He  loves  nature,  but  he  lives  in  his 
own  thoughts.  The  outward  as  outward  does  not 
appeal  to  him.  It  is  the  indwelling  of  the  Univer- 
sal Spirit  that  sustains  him ;  and  he  turns  from 
the  objective  world,  especially  from  social  forms 
and  religious  conventionalisms,  to  find  in  himself, 
as  the  dwelling-place  of  the  Spirit,  that  which  is 
beautiful  and  inspiring.  Lowell  could  not  find 
true  nobleness  in  the  men  and  women  around  him ; 
but  he  was  bade 

Look  inward  through  the  depths  of  thine  own  soul, 

and  then  he  found  it,  even  in  others.  Very  saw 
on  earth  another  light  than  that  his  eye  revealed, 
which 

Came  forth  aa  from  my  soul  within 
And  from  a  higher  sky ; 

and  it  is  this  inward  light  to  which  he  goes  for 
guidance. 

It  shone  from  God  within. 

Another  poet  said  it  is  not  in  nature  we  are  to  find 
God,  but  the  inner  eye  reveals  him  to  us. 
15 


INTKODUCTION 


Nature  all  concealing, 

Dim  her  outer  light, 
Finite  forms  revealing, 

Not  the  infinite. 

The  Over  Soul  is  revealed  in  the  outward  world, 
but  rather  as  a  foil  than  as  an  expression  of  its 
highest  life.  When  man  would  know  the  largest 
measure  of  being,  he  must  turn  away  from  nature, 
and  seek  it  in  his  own  soul.  When  he  turns  in- 
ward, and  puts  away  selfishness  and  all  regard 
for  material  things,  humbly  submits  himself  to  the 
guidance  of  the  Spirit,  he  will  then  find  the  di- 
vine life  he  seeks.  Many  of  our  poets  agree  with 
Wordsworth  in  the  conviction  that  the  world  is  too 
much  with  us,  and  they  turned  away  from  it  to 
find  in  the  soul  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or 
land.  Nature  is  of  value  to  man  because  it  reflects 
himself  to  himself,  and  enables  him  to  look  at  his 
own  life  as  it  is  mirrored  back  to  him  from  the 
physical  world.  It  is  capable  of  interpreting  man 
to  himself  because  it  is  an  expression  of  the  Over 
Soul  in  another  kind.  It  has  the  same  life  that  is 
in  man,  but  without  his  individuality  and  liberty. 
Its  permanence,  its  want  of  emotion,  its  passive 
acceptance  of  the  Spirit  that  in  it  finds  mamfesta- 


INTRODUCTION 


tion,  shows  man  the  need  he  has  for  integrity  of 
soul  and  imperturbability  of  spirit. 
All  around  himself  he  lies, 

said  Alcott  of  man,  for  nature  is  the  reflection  of 
man,  and  man  the  measure  of  nature. 

Nature  's  the  eyeball  of  the  Mind, 

said  Alcott  again.  It  is  this  unity  of  man  and  na- 
ture, the  marvelous  way  in  which  they  reflect  and  in- 
terpret each  other,  that  gives  origin  to  the  doctrine 
of  correspondences,  which  was  accepted  in  greater 
or  less  degree  by  all  the  transcendental  poets.  This 
theory  was  fully  stated  by  Cranch  in  his  declaration: 

All  things  in  Nature  are  beautiful  types  to  the  Soul  that 

will  read  them  ; 

Nothing  exists  upon  earth  but  for  unspeakable  ends. 
Every  object  that  speaks  to  the  senses  was  meant  for  the 

spirit; 
Nature  is  but  a  scroll,  God's  handwriting  thereon. 

According  to  this  theory  there  is  between  the  ma- 
terial and  the  spiritual  worlds  an  intimate  relation ; 
and  the  spiritual  is  interpreted  to  man  by  means  of 
the  material,  which  is  its  image  or  eidolon.  It  is 
as  such  an  expression  of  the  Over  Soul  that  nature 
is  of  chief  interest  to  our  poets.  They  may  love  it 


17 


INTRODUCTION 


for  its  beauty,  but  it  is  of  greater  worth  to  them  as 
a  manifestation  of  the  spirit  that  shines  through  it. 
Nature  is  a  perfect  image  of  God  in  its  own  kind, 
without  freedom  of  will  or  ethical  liberty.  Reason 
is  absent  from  it,  and  it  is  also  without  the  defect  of 
vice,  crime,  and  sin.  It  is  not  God,  but  God  is  re- 
flected in  it  as  in  a  mirror.  We  catch  glimpses  of 
his  image  therein,  and  they  charm  and  console  us. 
There  in  some  measure  is  his  law  written,  and 
there  we  come  into  intimate  sympathy  with  him 
and  his  abundant  life. 

The  transcendentalist's  conception  of  the  rela- 
tions of  mind  and  body,  and  his  belief  not  only 
that  mind  is  fundamental  but  that  it  is  the  only 
reality,  led  him  to  a  degree  of  asceticism.  He 
looked  upon  the  body  as  the  servant  of  the  mind, 
and  therefore  he  would  keep  it  in  strictest  subjec- 
tion. This  subordination  of  the  physical  part  of 
man  led  to  a  strict  regimen,  to  the  practice  of  tem- 
perance, and  even  to  abstemiousness.  The  mind 
ought  to  dominate  the  body,  and  if  it  is  true  to  it- 
self the  body  will  know  no  ill.  It  is  sin  of  mind 
that  makes  disease  of  body,  according  to  the  tran- 
scendentalist.  When  the  mind  dwells  in  the  body 
with  poise  and  integrity,  the  body  will  be  sound 
and  whole.  This  doctrine  is  well  stated  by  Very : 
18 


INTRODUCTION 


Not  from  the  earth,  or  skies, 

Or  seasons  as  they  roll, 
Come  health  and  vigor  to  the  frame, 

But  from  the  living  soul. 

Is  this  alive  to  God, 

And  not  the  slave  to  sin  ? 
Then  will  the  body,  too,  receive 

Health  from  the  soul  within. 

For  He  who  formed  our  frame 

Made  man  a  perfect  whole, 
And  made  the  body's  health  depend 

Upon  the  living  soul. 

According  to  Emerson  the  soul  is  the  man,  and  it 
uses  the  functions  of  the  body  for  its  purposes.  It 
is  "  the  background  of  our  being,"  the  light  that 
shines  through  the  bodily  form.  When  the  mind 
is  sound  the  body  is  whole,  and  all  defect  of  body 
is  first  of  all  defect  of  mind.  The  remedy  for  ills 
of  the  physical  nature  is  the  setting  the  mind  in 
order  and  the  living  in  harmony  with  its  laws. 

The  transcendentalist  is  always  an  optimist.  >f 
Because^  he  belie  vesTn  the  Over  Soul  he  is  oonfi- 
dent  that  evil  is  but  temporary,  and  that  it  will 
pass  away  as  the  spirit  is  more  perfectly  revealed 
in  the  evolution  of  man.  While  he  sometimes  ac- 
cepts the  "  lapse  "  philosophy,  as  did  Alcott,  and 
19 


INTRODUCTION 


maintains  that  man  has  through  self-will  fallen 
from  a  more  perfect  state,  he  always  believes  in 
the  gradual  recovery  of  the  higher  nature,  or  the 
development  of  man  until  he  shall  fully  attain  to 
the  things  of  the  spirit  and  live  a  noble  life.  He 
believes  that  the  future  is  better  than  the  past, 
that  Paradise  is  before  and  not  behind.  This  be- 
lief is  definitely  stated  by  Miss  Clapp :  — 

Eden  with  its  angels  bold, 
Love  and  flowers  and  coolest  sea, 

Is  not  ancient  story  told,  , 

But  a  glowing  prophecy. 

It  was  this  confidence  in  the  development  of  man 
that  made  one  of  these  poets  sing  of  a  present 
heaven,  and  another  of  the  workers  as  coming 
surely  to  their  own,  the  best  the  world  contains. 
Heaven  is  of  the  present  as  well  as  of  the  future, 
and  begins  here  to  show  its  quality  and  its  worth. 

The  transcendentalist  was  confident  of  immortal- 
ity. He  not  only  had  faith  that  man  will  live 
hereafter,  but  he  was  also  possessed  of  knowledge, 
as  he  thought.  "  I  know  I  am  immortal,"  was  his 
confident  assertion.  His  desire  became,  as  it  were, 
an  intuition,  and  that  he  held  was  enough  to  assure 
him  of  the  future. 

20 


INTRODUCTION 


I  am  immortal !     I  know  it !     I  feel  it  t 
was  the  strong  declaration  of  Margaret  Fuller. 

Chance  cannot  touch  me  !     Time  cannot  hush  me  ! 

Fear,  Hope,  and  Longing,  at  strife, 
Sink  as  I  rise,  on,  on,  upward  forever, 
Gathering  strength,  gaining  breath,  —  naught  can  sever 

Me  from  the  spirit  of  Life  ! 

It  was  confident  faith  in  Spirit  that  gave  such  as- 
surance of  futurity.  It  made  Ellery  Channing 
sing  in  that  noble  line  —  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
language  — 

If  my  hark  sink,  't  is  to  another  sea, 

with  a  profound  conviction  based  on  the  deepest 
faith.  But  Emerson  struck  another  note  on  this 
subject,  one  less  assertive,  even  if  as  trustful.  As 
was  characteristic  of  the  man,  he  was  reticent  of 
dogmatic  claims,  and  trusted  the  future  without 
presumptive  assertion.  He  once  declared :  "  We 
may  hope  for  a  future  life,  that  will  enable  us  to 
see  things  once,  and  then  to  pass  on  to  something 
new."  Such  a  statement,  if  less  confident,  is  more 
rational. 

A  strong  ethical  tendency  manifests  itself   in 
many  of   the   transcendental   poets,   as   in    Sill's 
"  Life,"  Hooper's  "  True  Nobleness,"  and  Howe's 
21 


INTRODUCTION 


"Warning."  Their  optimism  did  not  relax  the 
moral  purpose,  but  made  it  even  more  vigorous  and 
insistent.  There  was  something  heroic  in  their 
teaching,  and  they  braced  the  soul  for  duty,  and 
the  mind  to  accept  the  whole  of  the  truth.  Emer- 
son is  one  of  the  most  ethical  of  teachers,  and  al- 
ways preaches  a  gospel  of  courage,  strenuous  fidel- 
ity, and  insistent  loyalty.  He  ethically  invigorates 
all  who  come  into  real  contact  with  him,  and  helps 
them  to  face  life  without  flinching  and  with  joyous 
confidence. 

This  courage  grows  out  of  a  profound  trust  in 
the  Over  Soul.  The  heart  of  the  world  is  sound, 
and  its  will  can  be  accepted  without  fear.  Our 
poets  therefore  joyfully  accept  the  ways  of  the 
Over  Soul.  They  wait  its  manifestations  with 
hope,  and  do  not  seek  to  make  their  own  purposes 
overtop  it.  The  universe  is  inherently  good,  and 
there  is  no  call  to  despair  for  those  who  see  it  as  it 
is.  Tranquillity,  peace  of  soul,  moderation  in  de- 
sire, are  virtues  cultivated  by  those  who  put  their 
trust  in  the  ways  of  the  Over  Soul.  There  is  no 
need  to  run  up  and  down  the  world  for  beauty,  or 
help,  or  truth,  for  all  these  the  Spirit  brings  to 
those  who  need  them. 


INTRODUCTION 


I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 
For  what  avails  this  eager  pace  ? 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

When  Burroughs  sings  in  this  fashion  he  shows 
himself  a  true  transcendentalist,  for  that  is  the  at- 
titude and  temper  of  this  faith.  It  does  not  ques- 
tion the  ways  of  the  Over  Soul,  which  is  one  with 
its  own  highest  good.  It  has  no  creed,  no  dogma, 
no  ritual,  no  infallible  scripture ;  but  the  soul 
trusts  that  what  is  true  and  right  and  just  will  as- 
sert itself,  and  will  make  itself  clearly  known. 
Therefore,  it  does  not  combat  evil,  but  seeks  the 
good.  It  is  so  trustful  of  the  Over  Soul  that  it 
will  not  strive  or  complain,  but  hopefully  accepts 
what  the  Spirit  gives. 

The  chief  defect  of  the  poetry  of  the  transcen- 
dentalists  is  that  it  is  too  philosophical.  Its  lar- 
gest intent  is  ethical  or  religious,  and  not  artistic. 
Beauty  is  not  its  chief  inspiration,  but  thought. 
It  is  not  written  to  please,  but  to  convince.  It 
contains  a  gospel,  and  not  an  appeal  to  emotion 
and  imagination.  That  this  defect  always  presents 
itself  it  would  not  be  just  to  say,  and  yet  it  is  too 
often  present.  These  poets  are  more  concerned  as 
to  what  they  say  than  as  to  how  they  say  it.  They 
23 


INTRODUCTION 


are  not  singers,  but  teachers.  The  problems  of 
life  much  concern  them,  and  how  to  reform  the 
world  is  to  them  of  great  importance.  The  charm 
of  their  poetry  is  in  the  beauty  of  the  thought, 
and  not  in  the  delight  of  the  song  they  sing.  The 
form  is  often  rugged,  the  verse  is  halting  and  de- 
fective. Their  metres  stumble,  and  their  rhymes 
are  not  correct.  They  are  too  metaphysical,  sub- 
tle, and  complicated  in  their  thought  to  sing  them- 
selves clearly  and  strongly  out  into  beautiful  words. 
Their  thought  is  involved,  and  often  obscure. 
They  are  so  charmed  with  what  they  have  to  say, 
and  it  is  of  such  a  complex  and  subjective  nature, 
that  they  cannot  find  simple  and  direct  speech  for 
its  utterance.  Hence  the  halting  nature  of  their 
verse,  its  crippled  metres,  and  its  defective  rhymes. 
Too  often  in  their  verse  they  are  not  poets,  but 
philosophers. 

These  poets  do  not  sing  for  the  joy  of  the  sing- 
ing ;  and  yet  it  was  their  idealism,  the  fact  that  they 
were  enamored  of  beautiful  thoughts,  that  made 
them  use  the  verse  form  instead  of  prose.  Poetry 
was  to  all  of  them  the  occasional  rather  than  the 
chief  medium  of  expression.  With  the  exception 
of  Lowell,  they  were  not  poets  by  profession,  and 
even  with  him  prose  was  used  oftener  than  verse. 


INTRODUCTION 


Although  Emerson  early  declared  that  his  calling 
was  that  of  a  poet,  yet  he  gave  to  the  lecture  and 
the  essay  the  preference.  With  Thoreau,  Mar- 
garet Fuller,  Higginson,  and  Wasson,  as  well  as 
others,  poetry  was  occasional  or  incidental.  To  a 
larger  number  poetry  was  an  accident,  and  they 
wrote  one  or  two  or  a  half  dozen  poems  only. 
There  was  something  in  transcendentalism  that 
made  them  poets  in  youth  or  at  rare  moments; 
but  they  were  grave  theologians  or  philosophers 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  They  were  so  stirred  by 
the  joy  of  life  or  the  beauties  of  nature  that  prose 
ceased  to  be  a  fit  medium  for  their  thoughts. 
When  verse  thus  became  necessary  to  them  they 
used  it  with  a  considerable  degree  of  success,  and 
these  rare  utterances  are  far  above  the  level  of  oc- 
casional verse,  whatever  their  defects. 

If  poetry  is  an  interpretation  of  life,  the  tran- 
scendental poets  deserve  a  large  recognition.  If 
their  metaphysics  repels  us,  and  their  subjectiveness 
is  too  subtle  and  insistent,  they  saw  life  largely 
and  sanely.  We  can  forgive  their  defective  rhymes 
in  view  of  their  noble  optimism  and  their  heroic 
ethical  temper.  With  them  the  man  is  more  than 
the  verse,  and  the  manhood  shines  through  the 
stumbling  metres.  If  there  is  too  much  philosophy 
25 


INTRODUCTION 


in  their  poetry,  the  teaching  is  sound  and  it  is  sin- 
cere. It  was  indeed  a  gospel  they  gave  to  those 
who  need  it. 

Transcendentalism  no  longer  holds  the  place 
it  once  occupied.  It  is  not  now  the  inspirer  of 
poets  or  the  chief  influence  in  our  literature. 
While  idealism  is  more  firmly  established  and  more 
widely  accepted  than  ever,  transcendentalism  has 
lost  its  intellectual  supremacy.  Its  defects  are  not 
far  to  seek,  and  its  excesses  have  discredited  much 
that  it  taught.  That  mind  is  all,  and  that  the  Over 
Soul  speaks  only  to  the  individual  mind,  are  asser- 
tions that  are  widely  criticised  at  the  present  time. 
The  "  intuitions  "  of  the  transcendentalist  find  a 
saner  interpretation  in  the  subtle  laws  of  heredity 
than  in  the  explanation  he  gave  them.  Individu- 
alism gives  way  to  a  recognition  of  social  forces. 
The  atomic  theory  of  the  soul  does  not  justify  it- 
self in  view  of  our  present  knowledge  of  social 
interaction.  But  not  all  the  transcendentalists 
were  contented  with  the  theory  that  the  individual 
is  an  isolated  expression  of  the  Over  Soul.  The 
larger  view  was  justly  stated  by  George  Ripley 
and  William  Henry  Channing,  who  vigorously 
protested  against  Emerson's  individualism  and  what 
it  implied.  Self-reliance  has  its  worth,  but  no  man 
26 


INTRODUCTION 


can  isolate  himself  from  his  kind,  even  in  the  name 
of  the  Over  Soul.  A  "  rather  mountainous  Me," 
as  was  said  of  Margaret  Fuller's  self-assertion, 
shows  itself  in  too  many  who  accept  the  doctrine 
of  self-reliance.  They  ignore  the  heredity  that  has 
determined  their  capacities,  the  social  forces  that 
have  created  their  opportunities,  and  the  spiritual 
ideals  of  the  race  that  have  given  them  their  mo- 
tives and  their  vision. 

We  may  give  to  transcendentalism  a  generous 
recognition  for  what  it  was  to  the  men  and  women 
who  accepted  it ;  but  we  must  see  in  it  a  passing 
phase  of  American  thought.  It  may  be  that  there 
are  a  larger  number  of  persons  who  accept  this 
faith  to-day  than  in  the  prime  of  the  movement  as 
it  affected  American  literature ;  but  it  is  now  an 
echo.  To  no  great  men  is  it  inspiration,  and  it 
develops  no  creative  literary  movement.  The  charm 
of  it  has  passed  away  as  a  vital  force.  It  is  a 
beautiful  memory  that  is  precious  and  glorious,  and 
that  still  charms  and  delights  us. 

That  it  will  revive  again  we  may  be  convinced. 
It  represents  one  of  the  persistent  types  of  human 
thought.  To  some  minds  it  is  always  true,  be- 
cause there  are  always  individuals  who  see  the 
world  in  this  manner.  It  rarely  happens,  however, 
27 


INTKODUCTION 


that  this  form  of  thought  is  widely  enough  accepted 
to  constitute  a  "  movement "  or  to  create  a  litera- 
ture. When  this  occurs  the  legacy  is  precious, 
and  we  may  well  cherish  it  with  care  and  with 
joy.  We  can  delight  in  what  it  is  and  in  what  it 
accomplishes  without  accepting  its  philosophy.  No 
one  of  to-day  can  put  himself  back  into  the  full 
spirit  of  that  movement  and  realize  the  complete 
measure  of  it ;  but  to  appreciate  it,  to  give  it  large 
recognition  and  just  credit  for  what  it  was,  that  is 
not  essential.  Every  age  has  its  own  type  and 
quality,  and  reproduces  none  that  has  gone  before 
it ;  but  it  ought  to  be  able  to  see  largely  and 
sympathetically  what  other  men  and  other  ages 
have  accomplished.  If  their  time  is  not  our  time, 
and  their  thought  not  our  thought,  we  have  a 
large  duty  that  requires  us  to  give  them  wise 
recognition  and  to  credit  them  with  the  great 
debt  we  owe  them.  Thus  it  is  we  may  applaud 
the  transcendentalists,  praise  unstintedly  their 
work,  take  large  delight  in  what  they  accom- 
plished for  American  literature,  without  accepting 
their  ethical  theories  or  their  religious  philosophy. 
They  were  deeply  religious  men,  but  we  need  a 
more  scientific  word  than  was  theirs.  That  they 
were  seers,  we  admit ;  but  we  cannot  sit  with  them 


INTRODUCTION 


in  the  prophet's  garb.  And  yet,  we  praise  them, 
for  we  are  glad  in  their  work.  What  they  wrought 
of  beauty,  art,  philosophy,  religion,  is  ours ;  and 
we  have  no  wish  to  turn  aside  from  the  inheritance. 
We  take  it  as  a  goodly  part  of  what  the  past  has 
placed  in  store  for  us. 


THE  POETS  OF  TRANSCENDENTALISM 


i&alpf)  JLilattio  IZmrvsou 

EACH  AND  ALL 

LITTLE  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown, 
Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down  ; 
The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm ; 
The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 
Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse  and  lists  with  delight, 
Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height ; 
Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 
All  are  needed  by  each  one ; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 
I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough ; 
I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even ; 
He  sings  the  song,  butj  it  cheers  not  now, 
For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky ;  — 
He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 
The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore ; 
The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 
Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 
33 


KALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 
Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 
I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 
I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 
But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 
Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore 
With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar. 
The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 
As  mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed, 
Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 
Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 
At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 
Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the  cage  ;  - 
The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 
A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 
Then  I  said,  "  I  covet  truth  ; 
Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 
I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth :  "  — 
As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 
The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 
Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs ; 
I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath ; 
Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs ; 
Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground ; 
Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 
Full  of  light  and  of  deity ; 
34 


THE   RHODORA 


Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird  ;  — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

THE   RHODORA: 

ON    BEING   ASKED,    WHENCE   IS   THE  FLOWER? 

IN  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 
Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay ; 
Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 
And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 
Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 
Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 
Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose  ! 
I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew : 
But  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 
The  self -same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought 
you. 

35 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 


THE   PROBLEM 

I  LIKE  a  church  ;   I  like  a  cowl ; 

I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains,  or  pensive  smiles  : 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure  ? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 

His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ; 

Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 

The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle  ; 

Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 

The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old  ; 

The  litanies  of  nations  came, 

Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 

Up  from  the  burning  core  below,  — 

The  canticles  of  love  and  woe  : 

The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome 


,'50 


THE    PROBLEM 


Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity ; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free ; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew ;  — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird's  nest 

Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast  ? 

Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 

Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell  ? 

Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 

To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads  ? 

Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles, 

Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 

Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon 

As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone, 

And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids 

To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids  ; 

O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky, 

As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye ; 

For  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere 

These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air ; 

And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 

Adopted  them  into  her  race, 

And  granted  them  an  equal  date 

With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 


37 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass  ; 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned ; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within. 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs, 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 

Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken  ; 

The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told, 

In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 

Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 

Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 

One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 

I  know  what  say  the  fathers  wise,  — 

The  Book  itself  before  me  lies, 

Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine, 

And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line, 

The  younger  Golden  Lips  or  mines, 

Taylor,  the  Shakespeare  of  divines. 

His  words  are  music  in  my  ear, 

I  see  his  cowled  portrait  dear  ; 


THE   ETERNAL  PAN 


And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 
I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 


THE  ETERNAL  PAN 

ALL  the  forms  are  fugitive, 
But  the  substances  survive. 
Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 
A  divine  improvisation, 
From  the  heart  of  God  proceeds, 
A  single  will,  a  million  deeds. 
Once  slept  the  world  an  egg  of  stone, 
And  pulse,  and  sound,  and  light  was  none ; 
And  God  said,  "Throb! "  and  there  was  motion 
And  the  vast  mass  became  vast  ocean. 
Onward  and  on,  the  eternal  Pan, 
Who  layeth  the  world's  incessant  plan, 
Halteth  never  in  one  shape, 
But  forever  doth  escape, 
Like  wave  or  flame,  into  new  forms 
Of  gem,  and  air,  of  plants,  and  worms. 
I,  that  to-day  am  a  pine, 
Yesterday  was  a  bundle  of  grass. 
He  is  free  and  libertine, 
Pouring  of  his  power  the  wine 
39 


BALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 

To  every  age,  to  every  race  ; 
Unto  every  race  and  age 
He  emptieth  the  beverage ; 
Unto  each  and  unto  all, 
Maker  and  original. 
The  world  is  the  ring  of  his  spells, 
And  the  play  of  his  miracles. 
As  he  giveth  to  all  to  drink, 
Thus  or  thus  they  are  and  think. 
With  one  drop  sheds  form  and  feature ; 
With  the  next  a  special  nature  ; 
The  third  adds  heat's  indulgent  spark  ; 
The  fourth  gives  light  which  eats  the  dark  ; 
Into  the  fifth  himself  he  flings, 
And  conscious  Law  is  King  of  kings. 
As  the  bee  through  the  garden  ranges, 
From  world  to  world  the  godhead  changes ; 
As  the  sheep  go  feeding  in  the  waste, 
From  form  to  form  He  maketh  haste  ; 
This  vault  which  glows  immense  with  light 
Is  the  inn  where  he  lodges  for  a  night. 
What  recks  such  Traveller  if  the  bowers 
Which  bloom  and  fade  like  meadow  flowers 
A  bunch  of  fragrant  lilies  be, 
Or  the  stars  of  eternity  ? 
Alike  to  him  the  better,  the  worse,  — 
40 


FATE 


The  glowing  angel,  the  outcast  corse. 
Thou  metest  him  by  centuries, 
And  lo !  he  passes  like  the  breeze ; 
Thou  seek'st  in  glade  and  galaxy, 
He  hides  in  pure  transparency ; 
Thou  askest  in  fountains  and  in  fires, 
He  is  the  essence  that  inquires. 
He  is  the  axis  of  the  star ; 
He  is  the  sparkle  of  the  spar ; 
He  is  the  heart  of  every  creature ; 
He  is  the  meaning  of  each  feature  ; 
And  his  mind  is  the  sky, 
Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high. 


FATE 

THAT  you  are  fair  or  wise  is  vain, 
Or  strong,  or  rich,  or  generous  ; 
You  must  have  also  the  untaught  strain 
That  sheds  beauty  on  the  rose. 
There  is  a  melody  born  of  melody 
Which  melts  the  world  into  a  sea. 
Toil  could  never  compass  it, 
Art  its  height  could  never  hit, 
It  came  never  out  of  wit ; 
41 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 

But  a  music  music-born 
Well  may  Jove  and  Juno  scorn. 
Thy  beauty,  if  it  lack  the  fire 
Which  drives  me  mad  with  sweet  desire, 
What  boots  it  ?     What  the  soldier's  mail, 
Unless  he  conquer  and  prevail  ? 
What  all  the  goods  thy  pride  which  lift, 
If  thou  pine  for  another's  gift  ? 
Alas !  that  one  is  born  in  blight, 
Victim  of  perpetual  slight : 
When  thou  lookest  on  his  face, 
Thy  heart  saith,  Brother  !  go  thy  ways  ! 
None  shall  ask  thee  what  thou  doest, 
Or  care  a  rush  for  what  thou  knowest, 
Or  listen  when  thou  repliest, 
Or  remember  where  thou  liest, 
Or  how  thy  supper  is  sodden,  — 
And  another  is  born 
To  make  the  sun  forgotten. 
Surely  he  carries  a  talisman 
Under  his  tongue, 
Broad  are  his  shoulders,  and  strong, 
And  his  eye  is  scornful, 
Threatening  and  young. 
I  hold  it  of  little  matter, 
Whether  your  jewel  be  of  pure  water, 
42 


FATE 

A  rose  diamond  or  a  white, 

But  whether  it  dazzle  me  with  light. 

I  care  not  how  you  are  drest, 

In  the  coarsest  or  in  the  best, 

Nor  whether  your  name  is  base  or  brave, 

Nor  for  the  fashion  of  your  behavior, 

But  whether  you  charm  me, 

Bid  my  bread  feed  and  my  fire  warm  me, 

And  dress  up  nature  in  your  favor. 

One  thing  is  forever  good,  — 

That  one  thing  is  Success, 

Dear  to  the  Eumenides, 

And  to  all  the  heavenly  brood. 

Who  bides  at  home,  nor  looks  abroad, 

He  carries  the  eagles  —  he  masters  the  sword. 


Hotoell 


THE  FEANKNESS   OF  NATUEE 

WHEN  in  a  book  I  find  a  pleasant  thought 
Which  some  small  flower  in  the  woods  to  me 
Had  told,  as  if  in  straitest  secrecy, 
That  I  might  speak  it  in  sweet  verses  wrought, 
With  what  best  feelings  is  such  meeting  fraught  ! 
It  shows  how  nature's  life  will  never  be 
Shut  up  from  speaking  out  full  clear  and  free 
Her  wonders  to  the  soul  that  will  be  taught. 
And  what  though  I  have  but  this  single  chance 
Of  saying  that  which  every  gentle  soul 
Shall  answer  with  a  glad,  uplifting  glance  ? 
Nature  is  frank  to  him  whose  spirit  whole 
Doth  love  Truth  more  than  praise,  and  in  good 

time, 
My  flower  will  tell  me  sweeter  things  to  rhyme. 


THE   POET'S   OBEDIENCE 

ONLY  as  thou  herein  canst  not  see  me, 
Only  as  thou  the  same  low  voice  canst  hear 
44 


TO  IRENE   ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 

Which  is  the  morning  song  of  every  sphere 
And  which  thou  erewhile  heardst  beside  the  sea 
Or  in  the  still  night  flowing  solemnly, 
Only  so  love  this  rhyme  and  so  revere ; 
All  else  cast  from  thee,  haply  with  a  tear 
For  one  who,  rightly  taught,  yet  would  not  be 
A  voice  obedient ;  some  things  I  have  seen 
With  a  clear  eye,  and  otherwhile  the  earth 
With  a  most  sad  eclipse  hath  come  between 
That  sunlight  which  is  mine  by  right  of  birth 
And  what  I  know  with  grief   I  ought  to   have 

been, — 
Yet  is  short-coming  even  something  worth. 


TO   IRENE  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 

MAIDEN,  when  such  a  soul  as  thine  is  born, 
The  morning  stars  their  ancient  music  make 
And  joyful  once  again  their  song  awake, 
Long  silent  now  with  melancholy  scorn  ; 
And  thou,  not  mindless  of  so  blest  a  morn, 
By  no  least  deed  its  harmony  shall  break, 
And  shalt  to  that  high  clime  thy  footsteps  take 
Through    life's    most   darksome   passes   unfor- 
lorn  ; 

45 


JAMES  KUSSELL  LOWELL 

Therefore  from  thy  pure  faith  thou  shalt  not 

fall, 

Therefore  shalt  thou  be  ever  fair  and  free 
And  in  thine  every  motion  musical 
As  summer  air,  majestic  as  the  sea, 
A  mystery  to  those  who  creep  and  crawl 
Through  Time  and  part  it  from  Eternity. 


WISDOM  OF  THE  ETERNAL  ONE 

THEREFORE  think  not  the  Past  is  wise  alone, 
For  Yesterday  knows  nothing  of  the  Best, 
And  thou  shalt  love  it  only  as  the  nest 
Whence  glory-winged  things  to  Heaven  have  flown  : 
To  the  great  Soul  alone  are  all  things  known ; 
Present  and  future  are  to  her  as  past, 
While  she  in  glorious  madness  doth  forecast 
That  perfect  bud,  which  seems  a  flower  full-blown 
To  each  new  Prophet,  and  yet  always  opes 
Fuller  and  fuller  with  each  day  and  hour, 
Heartening  the  soul  with  odor  of  fresh  hopes, 
And  longings  high,  and  gushings  of  wide  power, 
Yet  never  is  or  shall  be  fully  blown 
Save  in  the  forethought  of  the  Eternal  One. 


WINTER 


WINTER 

THE  bird  sings  not  in  winter-time, 

Nor  doth  the  happy  murmur  of  the  bees 
Swarm  round  us  from  the  chill,  unleaved  lime, 
And  shall  ye  hear  the  poet  o'  sunny  rhyme, 

Mid  souls  more  bleak   and  bare  than  winter 
trees? 

As  a  lone  singing  bird  that  far  away, 

Hath  follow'd  north  the  fickle  smiles  of  spring, 
Is  ambush'd  by  a  sudden  bitter  day, 
And  sits  forlorn  upon  a  leafless  spray, 

Hiding  his  head  beneath  his  numbed  wing, 

So  is  the  poet,  if  he  chance  to  fall 

'Mong  hearts  by  whom  he  is  not  understood, 
Dull  hearts,  whose  throbbing  grows  not  musical, 
Although  their  strings  are  blown  upon  by  all 
The  sweetest  breezes  of  the  true  and  good. 

His  spirit  pineth  orphan'd  of  that  home 

Wherein  was  nursed  its  wondrous  infancy, 
And  whence   sometimes  'neath   night's  all -quiet 
dome, 

47 


JAMES  BUSSELL  LOWELL 

Swiftly  a  winged  memory  will  come, 
And  prophesy  of  glory  yet  to  be. 

Then  knows  he  that  he  hath  not  been  exiled 

From  those  wide  walls  his  own  by  right  of  birth ; 
But  hath  been  sent,  a  well-beloved  child, 
A  chosen  one  on  whom  his  father  smiled, 
And  blest,  to  be  his  messenger  on  Earth. 

Then  doth  his  brow  with  its  right  glory  shine, 

And  stretching  forth  his  strong,  undaunted  wings, 
He  soareth  to  an  atmosphere  divine, 
Whence  he  can  see  afar  that  clime  benign, 
His  fatherland,  whose  mystic  song  he  sings. 

So  in  his  eyes  there  doth  such  blessings  grow, 
That  all  those  faces  erst  so  hard  and  dull, 

With  a  sweet  warmth  of  brotherhood  do  glow, 

As  he  had  seen  them  glisten  long  ago, 
In  that  old  home  so  free  and  beautiful. 


LOVE   REFLECTED  IN  NATURE 

OUR  love  is  not  a  fading  earthly  flower  ; 

Its  winged  seed  dropped  down  from  Paradise, 

48 


THE   STREET 


And  nursed  by  day  and  night,  by  sun  and  shower, 

Doth  momently  to  fresher  beauty  rise ; 

To  us  the  leafless  autumn  is  not  bare, 

Nor  winter's  rattling  boughs  lack  lusty  green, 

Our  summer  hearts  make  summer's  fulness  where 

No  leaf  or  bud  or  blossom  may  be  seen : 

For  nature's  life  in  lover's  deep  life  doth  lie, 

Love  —  whose  f orgetfulness  is  beauty's  death, 

Whose  mystic  key  these  cells  of  thou  and  I 

Into  the  infinite  freedom  openeth, 

And  makes  the  body's  dark  and  narrow  grate 

The  wide-flung  leaves  of  heaven's  palace-gate. 


THE   STREET 

THEY  pass  by  me  like  shadows,  crowds  on  crowds, 
Dim  ghosts  of  men,  that  hover  to  and  fro, 
Hugging  their  bodies  round  them  like  thin  shrouds 
Wherein  their  souls  were  buried  long  ago ; 
They  trampled  on  their  faith  and  youth  and  love  — 
They  cast  their  hope  of  human  kind  away  — 
With  Heaven's  clear  messages  they  madly  strove 
And  conquered,  —  and  their  spirits  turned  to  clay ; 
Lo!    how   they   wander   round   the   world,   their 
grave, 

49 


JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL 

Whose  ever-gaping  maw  by  such  is  fed, 
Gibbering  at  living  men,  and  idly  rave 
"  We  only  truly  live,  but  ye  are  dead,"  — 
Alas,  poor  fools !  the  anointed  eye  may  trace 
A  dead  soul's  epitaph  in  every  face. 


BIBLIOLATRES 

GOD  is  not  dumb,  that  he  should  speak  no  more ; 
If  thou  hast  wanderings  in  the  wilderness 
And  find'st  not  Sinai,  't  is  thy  soul  is  poor  ; 
There   towers   the    mountain   of    the    Voice    no 

less, 

Which  whoso  seeks  shall  find,  but  he  who  bends, 
Intent  on  manna  still  and  mortal  ends, 
Sees  it  not,  neither  hears  its  thundered  lore. 

Slowly  the  Bible  of  the  race  is  writ, 

And  not  on  paper  leaves  nor  leaves  of  stone ; 

Each  age,  each  kindred,  adds  a  verse  to  it, 

Texts  of  despair  or  hope,  of  joy  or  moan. 

While  swings  the  sea,  while  mists  the  mountains 

shroud, 

While  thunder's  surges  burst  on  cliffs  of  cloud, 
Still  at  the  prophets'  feet  the  nation  sit. 
50 


DIVINE  TEACHERS 


DIVINE  TEACHERS 

GOD  sends  his  teachers  unto  every  age, 

To  every  clime  and  every  race  of  men, 

With  revelations  fitted  to  their  growth 

And  shape  of  mind,  nor  gives  the  realm  of  Truth 

Into  the  selfish  rule  of  one  sole  race : 

Therefore  each  form  of  worship  that  hath  swayed 

The  life  of  man,  and  given  it  to  grasp 

The  master-key  of  knowledge,  reverence, 

Infolds  some  germs  of  goodness  and  of  right ; 

Else  never  had  the  eager  soul,  which  loathes 

The  slothful  down  of  pampered  ignorance, 

Found  in  it  even  a  moment's  fitful  rest. 

There  is  an  instinct  in  the  human  heart 
Which  makes  that  all  the  fables  it  hath  coined, 
To  justify  the  reign  of  its  belief 
And  strengthen  it  by  beauty's  right  divine, 
Veil  in  their  inner  cells  a  mystic  gift, 
Which,  like  the  hazel  twig,  in  faithful  hands, 
Points  surely  to  the  hidden  springs  of  truth. 
For,  as  in  nature  naught  is  made  in  vain, 
But  all  things  have  within  their  hull  of  use 
A  wisdom  and  a  meaning  which  may  speak 
51 


JAMES  BUSSELL  LOWELL 

Of  spiritual  secrets  to  the  ear 

Of  spirit ;  so,  in  whatsoe'er  the  heart 

Hath  fashioned  for  a  solace  to  itself, 

To  make  its  inspiration  suit  its  creed, 

And  from  the  niggard  hands  of  falsehood  wring 

Its  needful  food  of  truth,  there  ever  is 

A  sympathy  with  Nature,  which  reveals, 

Not  less  than  her  own  works,  pure  gleams  of  light 

And  earnest  parables  of  inward  lore. 

TRUE  NOBLENESS 

"  FOE  this  true  nobleness  I  seek  in  vain, 

In  woman  and  in  man  I  find  it  not ; 

I  almost  weary  of  my  earthly  lot, 

My  life-springs  are  dried  up  with  burning  pain." 

Thou  find'st  it  not  ?     I  pray  thee  look  again, 

Look  inward  through  the  depths  of  thine  own  soul. 

How  is  it  with  thee  ?     Art  thou  sound  and  whole  ? 

Doth  narrow  search  show  thee  no  earthly  stain  ? 

Be  noble !  and  the  nobleness  that  lies 

In  other  men,  sleeping,  but  never  dead, 

Will  rise  in  majesty  to  meet  thine  own ; 

Then  wilt  thou  see  it  gleam  in  many  eyes, 

Then  will  pure  light  around  thy  path  be  shed, 

And  thou  wilt  nevermore  be  sad  and  lone. 


Hmos  ttronson  Elcott 

MAN 

HE  omnipresent  is, 

All  round  himself  he  lies, 

Osiris  spread  abroad, 

TJpstaring  in  all  eyes  : 

Nature  has  globed  thought, 

Without  him  she  were  not, 

Cosmos  from  Chaos  were  not  spoken, 

And  God  bereft  of  visible  token. 

APPROACHING  GOD 

WHEN  thou  approachest  to  the  One, 
Self  from  thyself  thou  first  must  free, 
Thy  cloak  duplicity  cast  clean  aside, 
And  iu^thyJBeing^s  beingje. 

MATTER 

Our  of  the  chaos  dawns  in  sight 
The  globe's  full  form  in  orbed  light ; 
53 


AMOS  BBONSON  ALGQTT 

Beam  kindles  beam,  kind  mirrors  kind, 
Nature  's  the  eyeball  of  the  Mind ; 
The  fleeting  pageant  tells  for  nought 
Till  shaped  in  Mind's  creative  thought. 


FRIENDSHIP 

NOR  elsewise  man  shall  fellow  meet, 
In  public  place,  in  converse  sweet, 
In  holy  aisles,  at  market  gate, 
In  learning's  halls,  or  courts  of  state, 
Nor  persons  properly  shall  find, 
Save  in  the  commonwealth  of  Mind ; 
Fair  forms  herein  their  souls  intrude, 
Peopling  what  else  were  solitude. 


EXCELLENCE 

WHERE  is  that  good,  which  wise  men  please  to 

call 

The  chiefest  ?     Doth  any  such  befall 
Within  man's  reach?  or  is  there  such  a  good  at 

aU? 


54 


EXCELLENCE 


If  such  there  be,  it  neither  must  expire 

Nor  change;  than  which   there   can   be   nothing 

higher : 
Such  good  must  be  the  utter  point  of  man's  desire. 

It  is  the  mark  to  which  all  hearts  must  tend  ; 

Can  be  desired  for  no  other  end 

Than  for  itself,  on  which  all  other  goods  depend. 

What  may  this  excellence  be  ?     Doth  it  subsist 

A  real  essence  clouded  in  the  mist 

Of  curious  art,  or  clear  to  every  eye  that  list? 

Or  is  't  a  tart  idea,  to  procure 

An  edge,  and  keep  the  practice  soul  in  ure 

Like  that  dear  chymic  dust,  or  puzzling  quadrature  ? 

Where  shall  I  seek  this  good?  where  shall  I  find 
This  cath'lic  pleasure,  whose  extremes  may  bind 
My  thoughts,  and  fill  the  gulf  of   my  insatiate 
mind? 

Lies  it  in  treasure  ?  in  full  heaps  untold  ? 

Doth  gouty  Mammon's  griping  hand  infold 

This  secret  saint  in  secret  shrines  of  sov'reign  gold  ? 


AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT 

No,  no,  she  lies  not  there  ;  wealth  often  sours 
In  keeping  ;  makes  us  hers,  in  seeming  ours ; 
She  slides  from  Heaven  indeed,  but  not  in  Danae's 
showers. 

Lives  she  in  honor?     No.     The  royal  crown 
Builds  up  a  creature,  and  then  batters  down : 
Kings  raise  thee  with  a  smile  and  raze  thee  with 
a  frown. 

In  pleasure  ?     No.     Pleasure  begins  in  rage  ; 
Acts  the  fool's  part  on  earth's  uncertain  stage  : 
Begins  the  play  in  youth,  and  epilogues  in  age. 

These,  these  are  bastard  goods  ;  the  best  of  these 
Torment  the  soul  with  pleasing  it ;  and  please, 
Like  waters  gulp'd  in  fevers,  with  deceitful  ease. 

Earth's  flatt'ring  dainties  are  but  sweet  distresses, 
Mole-hills  perform  the  mountains  she  professes, 
Alas !  can  earth  confer  more  good  than  earth  pos- 
sesses ? 

Mount,  mount,  my  soul,  and  let  my  thoughts  cashier 
Earth's  vain  delights,  and  make  thy  full  career 
At  Heaven's  eternal  joys  :  stop,  stop,  thy  courser 
there. 

56 


THE  SEEK'S   RATIONS 

There  shall  thy  soul  possess  uncareful  treasure: 
There  shalt  thou  swim  in  never-fading  pleasure, 
And  blaze  in  honor  far  above  the  frowns  of  Caesar. 

Lord,  if  my  hope  dare  let  her  anchor  fall, 
On  thee,  the  chiefest  good,  no  need  to  call 
For  earth's  inferior  trash ;  thou,  thou  art  All  in  AH. 


THE  SEER'S  RATIONS 

TAKES  sunbeams,  spring  waters, 
Earth's  juices,  meads'  creams, 
Bathes  in  floods  of  sweet  ethers, 
Comes  baptized  from  the  streams ; 
Guest  of  Him,  the  sweet-lipp'd, 
The  Dreamer's  quaint  dreams. 

Mingles  morals  idyllic 
With  Samian  fable, 
Sage  seasoned  from  cruets, 
Of  Plutarch's  chaste  table. 

Pledges  Zeus,  Zoroaster, 
Tastes  Cana's  glad  cheer, 
Sun's,  globes,  on  his  trencher, 
The  elements  there. 
57 


AMOS   BKONSON  ALCOTT 

Bowls  of  sunrise  for  breakfast 
Brimful  of  the  East, 
Foaming  flagons  of  frolic 
His  evening's  gay  feast. 

Sov'reign  solids  of  nature, 
Solar  seeds  of  the  sphere, 
Olympian  viand 
Surprising  as  rare. 

Thus  baiting  his  genius, 
His  wonderful  word 
Brings  poets  and  sibyls 
To  sup  at  his  board. 

Feeds  thus  and  thus  fares  he, 
Speeds  thus  and  thus  cares  he, 
Thus  faces  and  graces 
Life's  long  euthanasies, 

His  gifts  unabated, 
Transfigured,  translated  — 
The  idealist  prudent, 
Saint,  poet,  priest,  student, 
Philosopher,  he. 


58 

1 


EMERSON 


DR.   CHAINING 

CHANNING!  my  Mentor  whilst  my  thought  was 

young, 

And  I  the  votary  of  fair  liberty,  — 
How  hung  I  then  upon  thy  glowing  tongue, 
And  thought  of  love  and  truth  as  one  with  thee ! 
Thou  wast  the  inspirer  of  a  nobler  life, 
When  I  with  error  waged  unequal  strife, 
And  from  its  coils  thy  teaching  set  me  free. 
Be  ye,  his  followers,  to  his  leading  true, 
Nor  privilege  covet,  nor  the  wider  sway ; 
But  hold  right  onward  in  his  loftier  way, 
As  best  becomes,  and  is  his  rightful  due. 
If  learning 's   yours,  —  gifts    God  doth   least  es- 
teem,— 

Beyond  all  gifts  was  his  transcendent  view ; 
O  realize  his  Pentecostal  dream ! 


EMERSON 


MISFORTUNE  to  have  lived  not  knowing  thee  I 
'T  were  not  high  living,  nor  to  noblest  end, 


AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT 

Who,  dwelling  near,  learned  not  sincerity, 

Rich  friendship's  ornament  that  still  doth  lend 

To  life  its  consequence  and  propriety. 

Thy  fellowship  was  my  culture,  noble  friend : 

By  the  hand  thou  took'st  me,  and  didst  condescend 

To  bring  me  straightway  into  thy  fair  guild ; 

And  life-long  hath  it  been  high  compliment 

By  that  to  have  been  known,  and  thy  friend  styled, 

Given  to  rare  thought  and  to  learning  bent ; 

Whilst  in  my  straits  an  angel  on  me  smiled. 

Permit  me,  then,  thus  honored,  still  to  be 

A  scholar  in  thy  university. 


Hierophant,  and  lyrist  of  the  soul ! 

Clear  insight  thine  of  universal  mind  ; 

While  from  its  crypts  the  nascent  Powers  unroll, 

And  represent  to  consciousness  the  Whole. 

Each  in  its  order  seeks  its  natural  kind, 

These  latent  or  apparent,  stir  or  sleep, 

Watchful  o'er  widening  fields  of  airy  space, 

Or  slumbering  sightless  in  the  briny  deep  ;  — 

Thou,  far  above  their  shows,  servant  of  Grace, 

Tread'st   the   bright   way   from    Spirit   down   to 

Sense, 
Interpreting  all  symbols  to  thy  race,  — 


EMERSON 


Commanding  vistas  of  the  fair  Immense, 

And  glimpses  upward  far,  where,  sons  of  Heaven, 

Sit  in  Pantheon  throned  the  Sacred  Seven. 

in 

Pleased,  I  recall  those  hours,  so  fair  and  free, 
When  all  the  long  forenoons  we  two  did  toss 
From  lip  to  lip,  in  lively  colloquy, 
Plato,  Plotinus,  or  famed  schoolman's  gloss, 
Disporting  in  rapt  thought  and  ecstasy. 
Then  by  the  tilting  rail  Millbrook  we  cross, 
And  sally  through  the  fields  to  Walden  wave, 
Plunging  within  the  cove,  or  swimming  o'er ; 
Through  woodpaths  wending,  he  with  gesture  quick 
Rhymes  deftly  in  mid-air  with  circling  stick, 
Skims  the  smooth  pebbles  from  the  leafy  shore, 
Or  deeper  ripples  raises  as  we  lave  ; 
Nor  slumb'rous  pillow  touches  at  late  night, 
Till  converse  with  the  stars  his  eyes  invite. 


Gl 


Jiabftr 


STANZAS 

NATURE  doth  have  her  dawn  each  day, 
But  mine  are  far  between  ; 

Content,  I  cry,  for,  sooth  to  say, 
Mine  brightest  are,  I  ween. 

For  when  my  sun  doth  deign  to  rise, 
Though  it  be  her  noontide, 

Her  fairest  field  in  shadow  lies, 
Nor  can  my  light  abide. 

Sometimes  I  bask  me  in  her  day, 

Conversing  with  my  mate, 
But  if  we  interchange  one  ray, 

Forthwith  her  heats  abate. 

Through  his  discourse  I  climb  and  see 
As  from  some  eastern  hill, 

A  brighter  morrow  rise  to  me 
Than  lieth  in  her  skill. 

As  't  were  two  summer  days  in  one, 
Two  Sundays  come  together, 


INSPIRATION 


Our  rays  united  make  one  sun, 
With  fairest  summer  weather. 


INSPIRATION 

Whate'er  we  leave  to  God,  God  does, 

And  blesses  us  ; 
The  work  we  choose  should  be  our  own, 

God  leaves  alone. 


If  with  light  head  erect  I  sing, 

Though  all  the  Muses  lend  their  force, 

From  my  poor  love  of  anything, 

The  verse  is  weak  and  shallow  as  its  source. 

But  if  with  bended  neck  I  grope, 

Listening  behind  me  for  my  wit, 
With  faith  superior  to  hope, 

More  anxious  to  keep  back  than  forward  it ; 

Making  my  soul  accomplice  there 

Unto  the  flame  my  heart  hath  lit, 
Then  will  the  verse  for  ever  wear  — 

Time  cannot   bend   the   line  which  God   hath 
writ. 

63 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU 

Always  the  general  show  of  things 

Floats  in  review  before  my  mind, 
And  such  true  love  and  reverence  brings, 

That  sometimes  I  forget  that  I  am  blind. 

But  now  there  comes  unsought,  unseen, 

Some  clear  divine  electuary, 
And  I,  who  had  but  sensual  been, 

Grow  sensible,  and  as  God  is,  am  wary. 

I  hearing  get,  who  had  but  ears, 

And  sight,  who  had  but  eyes  before, 

I  moments  live,  who  lived  but  years, 

And  truth  discern,  who   knew   but  learning' 
lore. 

I  hear  beyond  the  range  of  sound, 

I  see  beyond  the  range  of  sight, 
New  earths  and  skies  and  seas  around, 

And  in  my  day  the  sun  doth  pale  his  light. 

A  clear  and  ancient  harmony 

Pierces  my  soul  through  all  its  din, 

As  through  its  utmost  melody,  — 

Farther  behind  than  they,  farther  within. 


INSPIRATION 


More  swift  its  bolt  than  lightning  is, 
Its  voice  than  thunder  is  more  loud, 

It  doth  expand  my  privacies 

To  all,  and  leave  me  single  in  the  crowd. 

It  speaks  with  such  authority, 

With  so  serene  and  lofty  tone, 
That  idle  Time  runs  gadding  by, 

And  leaves  me  with  Eternity  alone. 

Now  chiefly  is  my  natal  hour, 

And  only  now  my  prime  of  life, 
Of  manhood's  strength  it  is  the  flower,  , 

'T  is  peace's  end  and  war's  beginning  strife. 

It  comes  in  summer's  broadest  noon, 
By  a  grey  wall  or  some  chance  place, 

Unseasoning  Tune,  insulting  June, 

And  vexing  day  with  its  presuming  face. 

Such  fragrance  round  my  couch  it  makes, 
More  rich  than  are  Arabian  drugs, 

That  my  soul  scents  its  life  and  wakes 
The  body  up  beneath  its  perfumed  rugs. 

Such  is  the  Muse,  the  heavenly  maid, 
The  star  that  guides  our  mortal  course, 
65 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU 

Which  shows  where  life's  true  kernel 's  laid, 
Its  wheat's  fine  flower,  and  its  undying  force. 

She  with  one  breath  attunes  the  spheres, 

And  also  my  poor  human  heart, 
With  one  impulse  propels  the  years 

Around,  and  gives  my  throbbing  pulse  its  start. 

I  will  not  doubt  for  evermore, 

Nor  falter  from  a  steadfast  faith, 
For  though  the  system  be  turned  o'er, 

God  takes  not  back  the  word  which  once  he 
saith. 

I  will  not  doubt  the  love  untold 

Which  not  my  worth  nor  want  has  bought, 
Which  wooed  me  young,  and  wooes  me  old, 

And  to  this  evening  hath  me  brought. 

My  memory  I  '11  educate 

To  know  the  one  historic  truth, 
Eemembering  to  the  latest  date 

The  only  true  and  sole  immortal  youth. 

Be  but  thy  inspiration  given, 

No  matter  through  what  danger  sought, 


MY  PRAYER 


I  '11  fathom  hell  or  climb  to  heaven, 

And   yet   esteem    that   cheap   which   love   has 
brought. 


Fame  cannot  tempt  the  bard 
Who 's  famous  with  his  God, 

Nor  laurel  him  reward 
Who  has  his  Maker's  nod. 


MY  PRAYER 

GREAT  God,  I  ask  thee  for  no  meaner  pelf 
Than  that  I  may  not  disappoint  myself ; 
That  in  my  action  I  may  soar  as  high 
As  I  can  now  discern  with  this  clear  eye. 

And  next  in  value,  which  thy  kindness  lends, 
That  I  may  greatly  disappoint  my  friends, 
Howe'er  they  think  or  hope  that  it  may  be, 
They  may  not  dream  how  thou  'st  distinguished  me. 

That  my  weak  hand  may  equal  my  firm  faith, 
And  my  life  practise  more  than  my  tongue  saith ; 
That  my  low  conduct  may  not  show, 
Nor  my  relenting  lines, 
67 


HENBY  DAVID   THOREAU 

That  I  thy  purpose  did  not  know, 
Or  overrated  thy  designs. 


KUMOKS  FKOM  AN  ^OLIAN  HARP 

THEKE  is  a  vale  which  none  hath  seen, 
Where  foot  of  man  has  never  been, 
Such  as  here  lives  with  toil  and  strife, 
An  anxious  and  a  sinful  life. 

There  every  virtue  has  its  birth, 
Ere  it  descends  upon  the  earth, 
And  thither  every  deed  returns, 
Which  in  the  generous  bosom  burns. 

There  love  is  warm,  and  youth  is  young, 
And  poetry  is  yet  unsung, 
For  Virtue  still  adventures  there, 
And  freely  breathes  her  native  air. 

And  ever,  if  you  hearken  well, 
You  still  may  hear  its  vesper  bell, 
And  tread  of  high-souled  men  go  by, 
Their  thoughts  conversing  with  the  sky. 


CONSCIENCE 


CONSCIENCE 

CONSCIENCE  is  instinct  bred  in  the  house, 

Feeling  and  Thinking  propagate  the  sin 

By  an  unnatural  breeding  in  and  in. 

I  say,  Turn  it  out  doors, 

Into  the  moors. 

I  love  a  life  whose  plot  is  simple, 

And  does  not  thicken  with  every  pimple, 

A  soul  so  sound  no  sickly  conscience  binds  it, 

That   makes   the   universe  no  worse  thuu't 

finds  it. 

I  love  an  earnest  soul, 
Whose  mighty  joy  and  sorrow 
Are  not  drowned  in  a  bowl, 
And  brought  to  life  to-morrow ; 
That  lives  one  tragedy, 
And  not  seventy ; 
A  conscience  worth  keeping, 
Laughing  not  weeping ; 
A  conscience  wise  and  steady, 
And  for  ever  ready ; 
Not  changing  with  events, 
Dealing  in  compliments ; 


HENKY  DAVID  THOBEAU 

A  conscience  exercised  about 

Large  things,  where  one  may  doubt. 

I  love  a  soul  not  all  of  wood, 

Predestinated  to  be  good, 

But  true  to  the  backbone 

Unto  itself  alone, 

And  false  to  none  ; 

Born  to  its  own  affairs, 

Its  own  joys  and  own  cares  ; 

By  whom  the  work  which  God  begun 

Is  finished,  and  not  undone  ; 

Taken  up  where  he  left  off, 

Whether  to  worship  or  to  scoff ; 

If  not  good,  why  then  evil, 

If  not  good  god,  good  devil. 

Goodness  !  —  you  hypocrite,  come  out  of  that, 

Live  your  life,  do  your  work,  then  take  your 

hat. 

I  have  no  patience  towards 
Such  conscientious  cowards. 
Give  me  simple  laboring  folk, 
Who  love  their  work, 
Whose  virtue  is  a  song 
To  cheer  God  along. 


70 


THE   INWARD  MORNING 


THE  INWARD  MORNING 

4 
PACKED  in  my  mind  lie  all  the  clothes 

Which  outward  nature  wears, 
And  in  its  fashion's  hourly  change 

It  all  things  else  repairs. 

In  vain  I  look  for  change  abroad, 

And  can  no  difference  find, 
Till  some  new  ray  of  peace  uncalled 

Illumes  my  inmost  mind. 

What  is  it  gilds  the  trees  and  clouds, 
And  paints  the  heavens  so  gay, 

But  yonder  fast-abiding  light 
With  its  unchanging  ray  ? 

Lo,  when  the  sun  streams  through  the  wood, 

Upon  a  winter's  morn, 
Where'er  his  silent  beams  intrude 

The  murky  night  is  gone. 

How  could  the  patient  pine  have  known 
The  morning  breeze  would  come, 
71 


HENRY   DAVID   THOREAU 

Or  humble  flowers  anticipate 
The  insect's  noonday  hum,  — 


Till  the  new  light  with  morning  cheer 
From  far  streamed  through  the  aisles, 

And  nimbly  told  the  forest  trees 
For  many  stretching  miles  ? 

I  've  heard,  within  my  inmost  soul, 
Such  cheerful  morning  news, 

In  the  horizon  of  my  mind 
Have  seen  such  orient  hues, 

As  in  the  twilight  of  the  dawn, 
When  the  first  birds  awake, 

Are  heard  within  some  silent  wood, 
Where  they  the  small  twigs  break, 

Or  in  the  eastern  skies  are  seen, 

Before  the  sun  appears, 
The  harbinger  of  summer  heats, 

Which  from  afar  he  bears. 


72 


LINES 


LINES 

ALL  things  are  current  found 
On  earthly  ground, 
Spirits  and  elements 
Have  their  descents. 


Night  and  day,  year  on  year, 
High  and  low,  far  and  near, 
These  are  our  own  aspects, 
These  are  our  own  regrets. 

Ye  gods  of  the  shore, 
Who  abide  evermore, 
I  see  your  far  headland, 
Stretching  on  either  hand  ; 

I  hear  the  sweet  evening  sounds 
From  your  undecaying  grounds  ; 
Cheat  me  no  more  with  time, 
Take  me  to  your  clime. 

73 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU 


MY  LIFE 

MY  life  is  like  a  stroll  upon  the  beach, 
As  near  the  ocean's  edge  as  I  can  go ; 

My  tardy  steps  its  waves  sometimes  o'erreach, 
Sometimes  I  stay  to  let  them  overflow. 

My  sole  employment  is,  and  scrupulous  care, 
To  place  my  gains  beyond  the  reach  of  tides, 

Each  smoother  pebble,  and  each  shell  more  rare, 
Which  Ocean  kindly  to  my  hand  confides. 

I  have  but  few  companions  on  the  shore : 

They  scorn  the    strand  who   sail   upon   the 
sea ; 

Yet  oft  I  think  the  ocean  they  've  sailed  o'er 
Is  deeper  known  upon  the  strand  to  me. 

The  middle  sea  contains  no  crimson  dulse, 
Its  deeper  waves  cast  up  no  pearls  to  view ; 

Along  the  shore  my  hand  is  on  its  pulse, 
And   I   converse  with   many  a   shipwrecked 
crew. 


74 


LIFE  A  TEMPLE 

THE  temple  round 
Spread  green  the  pleasant  ground ; 

The  fair  colonnade 
Be  of  pure  marble  pillars  made ; 
Strong  to  sustain  the  roof, 

Time  and  tempest  proof ; 
Yet,  amidst  which,  the  lightest  breeze 

Can  play  as  it  please ; 

The  audience  hall 

Be  free  to  all 

Who  revere 
The  power  worshipped  here, 

Sole  guide  of  youth, 

Unswerving  Truth. 

In  the  inmost  shrine 

Stands  the  image  divine, 

Only  seen 
By  those  whose  deeds  have  worthy  been 

Priestlike  clean. 
Those,  who  initiated  are, 


75 


MARGARET  FULLER 


Declare, 
As  the  hours 

Usher  in  varying  hopes  and  powers  ; 
It  changes  its  face, 

It  changes  its  age, 
Now  a  young,  beaming  Grace, 

Now  a  Nestorian  Sage : 
But,  to  the  pure  in  heart, 
This  shape  of  primal  art 
In  age  is  fair, 
In  youth  seems  wise, 
Beyond  compare, 
Above  surprise ; 
What  it  teaches  native  seems, 
Its  new  lore  our  ancient  dreams  ; 
Incense  rises  from  the  ground ; 

Music  flows  around ; 
Firm  rest  the  feet  below,  clear  gaze  the  eyes 

above, 
When   Truth,   to   point   the   way   through   Life, 

assumes  the  wand  of  Love  ; 
But,  if  she  cast  aside  the  robe  of  green, 
Winter's  silver  sheen, 
White,  pure  as  light, 

Makes  gentle  shroud  as  worthy  weed  as  bridal 
robe  has  been. 

76 


ENCOURAGEMENT 


ENCOURAGEMENT 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless  " 

0  FRIEND  divine,  this  promise  dear 
Falls  sweetly  on  the  weary  ear ! 
Often,  in  hours  of  sickening  pain, 
It  soothes  me  to  thy  rest  again. 

Might  I  a  true  disciple  be, 
Following  thy  footsteps  faithfully, 
Then  should  I  still  the  succor  prove 
Of  him  who  gave  his  life  for  love. 

When  this  fond  heart  would  vainly  beat 
For  bliss  that  ne'er  on  earth  we  meet, 
For  perfect  sympathy  of  soul, 
For  those  such  heavy  laws  control ; 

When,  roused  from  passion's  ecstasy, 

1  see  the  dreams  that  filled  it  fly, 
Amid  my  bitter  tears  and  sighs 
Those  gentle  words  before  me  rise. 

With  aching  brows  and  feverish  brain 
The  founts  of  intellect  I  drain, 
77 


MARGARET  FULLER 


And  con  with  over-anxious  thought 
"What  poets  sung  and  heroes  wrought. 

Enchanted  with  their  deeds  and  lays, 
I  with  like  gems  would  deck  my  days ; 
No  fires  creative  in  me  burn, 
And,  humbled,  I  to  Thee  return ; 

When  blackest  clouds  around  me  rolled 
Of  skepticism  drear  and  cold, 
When  love,  and  hope,  and  joy,  and  pride, 
Forsook  a  spirit  deeply  tried  ; 

My  reason  wavered  in  that  hour, 
Prayer,  too  impatient,  lost  its  power; 
From  thy  benignity  a  ray 
I  caught,  and  found  the  perfect  day. 

A  head  revered  in  dust  was  laid ; 
For  the  first  time  I  watched  my  dead  ; 
The  widow's  sobs  were  checked  in  vain, 
And  childhood's  tears  poured  down  like  rain. 

In  awe  I  gazed  on  that  dear  face, 
In  sorrow,  years  gone  by  retrace, 
When,  nearest  duties  most  forgot, 
I  might  have  blessed,  and  did  it  not ! 
78 


ENCOUKAGEMENT 


Ignorant,  his  wisdom  I  reproved, 
Heedless,  passed  by  what  most  he  loved, 
Knew  not  a  life  like  his  to  prize, 
Of  ceaseless  toil  and  sacrifice. 

No  tears  can  now  that  hushed  heart  move, 
No  cares  display  a  daughter's  love, 
The  fair  occasion  lost,  no  more 
Can  thoughts  more  just  to  thee  restore. 

What  can  I  do  ?    And  how  atone 
For  all  I  've  done,  and  left  undone  ? 
Tearful  I  search  the  parting  words 
Which  the  beloved  John  records. 

"  Not  comfortless !  "     I  dry  my  eyes, 
My  duties  clear  before  me  rise,  — 
Before  thou  think'st  of  taste  or  pride, 
See  home  affections  satisfied ! 

Be  not  with  generous  thoughts  content, 
But  on  well-doing  constant  bent : 
When  self  seems  dear,  self-seeking  fair, 
Kemember  this  sad  hour  in  prayer  ! 

Though  all  thou  wishest  fly  thy  touch, 
Much  can  one  do  who  loveth  much. 
79 


MARGARET  FULLER 


More  of  thy  spirit,  Jesus,  give, 
Not  comfortless,  though  sad,  to  live. 

And  yet  not  sad,  if  I  can  know 
To  copy  him  who  here  below 
Sought  but  to  do  his  Father's  will, 
Though  from  such  sweet  composure  still 

My  heart  be  far.     Wilt  thou  not  aid 
One  whose  best  hopes  on  thee  are  stayed  ? 
Breathe  into  me  thy  perfect  love, 
And  guide  me  to  thy  rest  above ! 


SUB  ROSA,   CRUX 

IN  times  of  old,  as  we  are  told, 
When  men  more  child-like  at  the  feet 

Of  Jesus  sat,  than  now, 
A  chivalry  was  known  more  bold 

Than  ours,  and  yet  of  stricter  vow, 
Of  worship  more  complete. 

Knights  of  the  Rosy  Cross,  they  bore 
Its  weight  within  the  heart,  but  wore 
Without,  devotion's  sign  in  glistening  ruby  bright ; 
80 


SUB  ROSA,   CRUX 


The  gall  and  vinegar  they  drank  alone, 
But  to  the  world  at  large  would  only  own 
The  wine  of  faith,  sparkling  with  rosy  light. 

They  knew  the  secret  of  the  sacred  oil 

"Which,  poured  upon  the  prophet's  head, 
Could  keep  him  wise  and  pure  for  aye. 

Apart  from  all  that  might  distract  or  soil, 

With  this  their  lamps  they  fed, 
Which  burn  in  their  sepulchral  shrines  unfading 
night  and  day. 

The  pass-word  now  is  lost 
To  that  initiation  full  and  free  ; 

Daily  we  pay  the  cost 
Of  our  slow  schooling  for  divine  degree. 
We  know  no  means  to  feed  an  undying  lamp  ; 
Our  lights  go  out  in  every  wind  or  damp. 

We  wear  the  cross  of  ebony  and  gold, 
Upon  a  dark  background  a  form  of  light, 

A  heavenly  hope  upon  a  bosom  cold, 
A  starry  promise  in  a  frequent  night ; 

The  dying  lamp  must  often  trim  again, 

For  we  are  conscious,  thoughtful,  striving  men. 
81 


MARGARET  FULLER 


Yet  be  we  faithful  to  this  present  trust, 
Clasp  to  a  heart  resigned  the  fatal  must ; 
Though  deepest  dark  our  efforts  should  enfold, 
Unwearied  mine  to  find  the  vein  of  gold ; 
Forget  not  oft  to  lift  the  hope  on  high ; 
The  rosy  dawn  again  shall  fill  the  sky. 

And  by  that  lovely  light,  all  truth-revealed, 

The  cherished  forms  which  sad  distrust  concealed, 

Transfigured,  yet  the  same,  will  round  us  stand, 

The  kindred  angels  of  a  faithful  band  ; 

Ruby  and  ebon  cross  both  cast  aside, 

No  lamp  is  needed,  for  the  night  has  died. 

Happy  be  those  who  seek  that  distant  day, 
With  feet  that  from  the  appointed  way 

Could  never  stray ; 

Yet  happy  too  be  those  who  more  and  more, 
As  gleams  the  beacon  of  that  only  shore, 

Strive  at  the  laboring  oar. 

Be  to  the  best  thou  knowest  ever  true, 

Is  all  the  creed  ; 
Then,  be  thy  talisman  of  rosy  hue, 

Or  fenced  with  thorns  that  wearing  thou  must 
bleed, 


DRYAD  SONG 


Or  gentle  pledge  of  Love's  prophetic  view, 
The  faithful  steps  it  will  securely  lead. 

Happy  are  all  who  reach  that  shore, 

And  bathe  in  heavenly  day, 
Happiest  are  those  who  high  the  banner  bore, 

To  marshal  others  on  the  way ; 
Or  waited  for  them,  fainting  and  way-worn, 
By  burdens  overborne. 


DRYAD   SONG 

I  AM  immortal !     I  know  it !     I  feel  it ! 

Hope  floods  my  heart  with  delight ! 
Running  on  air,  mad  with  life,  dizzy,  reeling, 
Upward  I  mount,  —  faith  is  sight,  life  is  feeling, 

Hope  is  the  day-star  of  might ! 

It  was  thy  kiss,  Love,  that  made  me  immortal,  — 

"  *  Kiss,'  Love  ?     Our  lips  have  not  met !  " 
Ah,  but  I  felt  thy  soul  through  night's  portal 
Swoon  on  my  lips  at  night's  sweet,  silent  portal, 
Wild  and  as  sweet  as  regret. 

Come,  let  us  mount  on  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
Flying  for  joy  of  the  flight, 


MARGARET   FULLER 


Wild  with  all  longing,  now  soaring,  now  staying, 
Mingling  like  day  and  dawn,  swinging  and  sway- 
ing* 

Hung  like  a  cloud  in  the  light : 
I  am  immortal !     I  feel  it !     I  feel  it ! 

Love  bears  me  up,  love  is  might ! 

Chance  cannot  touch  me  !     Time  cannot  hush  me ! 

Fear,  Hope,  and  Longing,  at  strife, 
Sink  as  I  rise,  on,  on,  upward  forever, 
Gathering  strength,  gaining  breath,  —  naught  can 
sever 

Me  from  the  Spirit  of  Life ! 


84 


$earse  Cranrf) 
GNOSIS 

THOUGHT  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought : 

Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 

What  unto  themselves  was  taught 

We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils ; 

Man  by  man  was  never  seen  ; 
All  our  deep  communing  fails 

To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 

Heart  to  heart  was  never  known ; 

Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet ; 
We  are  columns  left  alone 

Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 
Far  apart  though  seeming  near, 

In  our  light  we  scattered  lie ; 
All  is  thus  but  starlight  here. 

What  is  social  company 

But  a  babbling  summer  stream? 
85 


CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRANCH 

What  our  wise  philosophy 
But  the  glancing  of  a  dream? 

Only  when  the  Sun  of  Love 

Melts  the  scattered  stars  of  thought, 

Only  when  we  live  above 

What  the  dim-eyed  world  hath  taught, 

Only  when  our  souls  are  fed 

By  the  Fount  which  gave  them  birth, 

And  by  inspiration  led 

Which  they  never  drew  from  earth, 

We,  like  parted  drops  of  rain, 
Swelling  till  they  meet  and  run, 

Shall  be  all  absorbed  again, 
Melting,  flowing  into  one. 


CORRESPONDENCES 

ALL  things  in  Nature  are  beautiful  types  to  the 

soul  that  will  read  them; 

Nothing  exists  upon  earth,  but  for  unspeakable 
ends. 


CORRESPONDENCES 


Every  object  that  speaks  to  the  senses  was  meant 

for  the  spirit : 
Nature   is   but   a   scroll,  —  God's  handwriting 

thereon. 

Ages  ago,  when  man  was  pure,  ere  the  flood  over- 
whelmed him, 

While  in  the  image  of  God  every  soul  yet  lived, 
Everything  stood  as  a  letter  or  word  of  a  language 

familiar, 
Telling  of  truths  which  now  only  the  angels  can 

read. 

Lost  to  man  was  the  key  of  those  sacred  hiero- 
glyphics,- ^ 
Stolen  away  by  sin,  —  till  with  Jesus  restored. 
Now  with  infinite  pains  we  here  and  there  spell 

out  a  letter ; 
Now   and  then   will    the    sense  feebly    shine 

through  the  dark. 
When  we  perceive  the  light  which  breaks  through 

the  visible  symbol, 
What  exultation  is  ours !  we  the  discovery  have 

made! 
Yet  is  the  meaning  the  same  as  when  Adam  lived 

sinless  in  Eden, 

Only  long-hidden  it  slept  and  now  again  is  re- 
stored. 

87 


CHRISTOPHER  PEABSE  CBANCH 

Man  unconsciously  uses  figures  of   speech  every 

moment, 
Little  dreaming  the  cause  why  to  such  terms  he 

is  prone,  — 

Little  dreaming  that  everything  has  its  own  corre- 
spondence 
Folded  within  it  of   old,   as  in  the  body  the 

soul. 
Gleams  of  the   mystery  fall  on  us    still,  though 

much  is  forgotten, 
And  through  our  commonest  speech  illumines  the 

path  of  our  thoughts. 
Thus  does  the  lordly  sun  shine  out  a  type  of  the 

Godhead; 
Wisdom  and  Love  the  beams  that  stream  on  a 

darkened  world. 
Thus  do  the  sparkling  waters  flow,  giving  joy  to 

the  desert, 
And  the  great  Fountain  of  Life  opens  itself  to 

the  thirst. 
Thus  does  the  word  of  God  distil  like  the  rain 

and  the  dew-drops, 
Thus  does  the  warm  wind  breathe  like  to  the 

Spirit  of  God, 

And  the  green  grass  and  the  flowers  are  signs  of 
the  regeneration. 


THE  OCEAN 


O  thou  Spirit  of  Truth !  visit  our  minds  once 

more! 
Give  us  to  read,  in  letters  of  light,  the  language 

celestial, 
Written  all  over  the  earth,  —  written  all  over 

the  sky: 
Thus  may  we  bring  our  hearts  at  length  to  know 

our  Creator, 

Seeing  in  all  things  around  types  of  the  Infinite 
Mind. 


THE  OCEAN 

"  In  a  season  of  calm  weather 
Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Oar  souls-have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
That  brought  us  hither, 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore." 

WORDSWORTH. 

TELL  me,  brother,  what  are  we  ? 
Spirits  bathing  in  the  sea 

Of  Deity! 

Half  afloat,  and  half  on  land, 
Wishing  much  to  leave  the  strand, 
Standing,  gazing  with  devotion, 


CHRISTOPHEB  PEARSE  CRANCH 

Yet  afraid  to  trust  the  ocean,  — 
Such  are  we. 

Wanting  love  and  holiness, 
To  enjoy  the  wave's  caress ; 
Wanting  faith  and  heavenly  hope, 
Buoyantly  to  bear  us  up ; 
Yet  impatient  in  our  dwelling, 
When  we  hear  the  ocean  swelling, 
And  in  every  wave  that  rolls 
We  behold  the  happy  souls 
Peacefully,  triumphantly 
Swimming  on  the  smiling  sea, 
Then  we  linger  round  the  shore, 
Lovers  of  the  earth  no  more. 
ti 

Once,  —  't  was  in  our  infancy,  — 
We  were  drifted  by  this  sea 
To  the  coast  of  human  birth, 
To  this  body  and  this  earth ; 
Gentle  were  the  hands  that  bore 
Our  young  spirits  to  the  shore  ; 
Gentle  lips  that  bade  us  look 
Outward  from  our  cradle-nook 
To  the  spirit-bearing  ocean 
With  such  wonder  and  devotion, 
90 


THE   OCEAN 


As,  each  stilly  Sabbath  day 
We  were  led  a  little  way, 
Where  we  saw  the  waters  swell 
Far  away  from  inland  dell, 
And  received  with  grave  delight 
Symbols  of  the  Infinite  :  — 
Then  our  home  was  near  the  sea ; 
"  Heaven  was  round  our  infancy ;  "  — 
Night  and  day  we  heard  the  waves 
Murmuring  by  us  to  their  caves  ;  — 
Floated  in  unconscious  life 
With  no  later  doubts  at  strife, 
Trustful  of  th'  Upholding  Power, 
Who  sustained  us  hour  by  hour. 

Now  we  've  wandered  from  the  shore, 
Dwellers  by  the  sea  no  more ; 
Yet  at  times  there  comes  a  tone 
Telling  of  the  visions  flown, 
Soundings  from  the  distant  sea 
Where  we  left  our  purity : 
Distant  glimpses  of  the  surge 
Lure  us  down  to  ocean's  verge ; 
There  we  stand  with  vague  distress 
Yearning  for  the  measureless, 
By  half -wakened  instincts  driven, 
91 


CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRANCH 

Half  loving  earth,  half  loving  heaven, 
Fearing  to  put  off  and  swim, 
Yet  impelled  to  turn  to  Him, 
In  whose  life  we  live  and  move, 
And  whose  very  name  is  Love. 

Grant  me  courage,  Holy  One, 
To  become  indeed  thy  son, 
And  in  thee,  thou  Parent-Sea, 
Live  and  love  eternally. 


I  IN  THEE,  AND  THOU  IN  ME 

I  AM  but  clay  in  thy  hands,  but  thou  art  the  all- 
loving  artist ; 
Passive  I  lie  in  thy  sight,  yet  in  my  selfhood  I 

strive 

So  to  embody  the  life  and  love  thou  ever  impartest 
That  in  my  sphere  of  the  finite  I  may  be  truly 
alive. 

Knowing  thou  needest  this  form,  as  I  thy  divine 

inspiration, 

Knowing  thou  shapest  the  clay  with  a  vision  and 
purpose  divine, 


I  IN  THEE 


So  would  I  answer  each  touch  of  thy  hand  in  its 

loving  creation, 

That  in  my  conscious  life  thy  power  and  beauty 
may  shine. 

Reflecting  the  noble  intent  thou  hast  in  forming 

thy  creatures ; 
Waking  from  sense  into  life  of  the  soul,  and  the 

image  of  thee ; 

Working  with  thee  in  thy  work  to  model  human- 
ity's features 

Into  the  likeness  of  God,  myself  from  myself  I 
would  free. 

One  with  all  human  existence,  no  one   above  or 

below  me ; 
Lit  by  thy  wisdom  and  love,  as  roses  are  steeped 

.  in  the  morn ; 
Growing  from  clay  to  statue,  from  statue  to  flesh, 

till  thou  know  me 

Wrought  into  manhood  celestial,  and  in  thine 
image  reborn. 

So  in  thy  love  will  I  trust,  bringing  me  sooner  or  later 
Past  the  dark  screen  that  divides  these  shows  of 
the  finite  from  thee. 
93 


CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRANCH 

Thine,  thine  only,  this  warm  dear  life,  O  loving 

Creator ! 

Thine  the  invisible  future,  born  of  the  present, 
must  be. 


HUMAN   HELPERS 

PKAISE,  praise  ye  the  prophets,  the  sages 
Who  lived  and  who  died  for  the  ages  ; 
The  grand  and  magnificent  dreamers  ; 
The  heroes,  and  mighty  redeemers; 
The  martyrs,  reformers,  and  leaders  ; 
The  voices  of  mystical  Vedas  ; 
The  bibles  of  races  long  shrouded 
Who  left  us  their  wisdom  unclouded ; 
The  truth  that  is  old  as  their  mountains, 
But  fresh  as  the  rills  from  their  fountains. 

And  praise  ye  the  poets  whose  pages 
Give  solace  and  joy  to  the  ages  ; 
Who  have  seen  in  their  marvellous  trances 
Of  thought  and  of  rhythmical  fancies, 
The  manhood  of  Man  in  all  errors  ; 
The  triumph  of  hope  over  terrors ; 
The  great  human  heart  ever  pleading 
94 


SO   FAR,   SO  NEAR 


Its  kindred  divine,  though  misleading, 
Fate  held  it  aloof  from  the  heaven 
That  to  spirits  untempted  was  given. 

The  creeds  of  the  past  that  have  bound  us, 
With  visions  of  terror  around  us 
Like  dungeons  of  stone  that  have  crumbled, 
Beneath  us  lie  shattered  and  humbled. 
The  tyranny  mitred  and  crested, 
Flattered  and  crowned  and  detested ; 
The  blindness  that  trod  upon  Science ; 

The  bigotry  Ignorance  cherished ; 
The  armed  and  the  sainted  alliance 

Of  conscience  and  hate  —  they  have  perished, 
Have  melted  like  mists  in  the  splendor 

Of  life  and  of  beauty  supernal  — 
Of  love  ever  watchful  and  tender, 

Of  law  ever  one  and  eternal. 


SO  FAR,   SO  NEAR 

THOU,  so  far,  we  grope  to  grasp  thee  — 
Thou,  so  near,  we  cannot  clasp  thee  — 
Thou,  so  wise,  our  prayers  grow  heedless  — 
Thou,  so  loving,  they  are  needless ! 
95 


CHRISTOPHER  PEAKSE  CRANCH 

In  each  human  soul  thou  shinest ; 

Human-best  is  thy  divinest. 

In  each  deed  of  love  thou  warmest ; 

Evil  into  good  transformest. 

Soul  of  all,  and  moving  centre 

Of  each  moment's  life  we  enter. 

Breath  of  breathing  —  light  of  gladness  — 

Infinite  antidote  of  sadness ;  — 

All-preserving  ether  flowing 

Through  the  worlds,  yet  past  our  knowing. 

Never  past  our  trust  and  loving, 

Nor  from  thine  our  life  removing. 

Still  creating,  still  inspiring, 

Never  of  thy  creatures  tiring. 

Artist  of  thy  solar  spaces, 

And  thy  humble  human  faces ; 

Mighty  glooms  and  splendors  voicing  ; 

In  thy  plastic  work  rejoicing  ; 

Through  benignant  law  connecting 

Best  with  best  —  and  all  perfecting, 

Though  all  human  races  claim  thee, 

Thought  and  language  fail  to  name  thee, 

Mortal  lips  be  dumb  before  thee, 

Silence  only  can  adore  thee ! 


96 


lEUerg  fanning 
THOUGHTS 


THE  Bible  is  a  book  worthy  to  read  ; 

The  life  of  those  great  Prophets  is  the  life  we  need, 

From  all  delusive  seeming  ever  freed. 

Be  not  afraid  to  utter  what  thou  art ; 
'T  is  no  disgrace  to  keep  an  open  heart ; 
A  soul  free,  frank,  and  loving  friends  to  aid, 
Not  even  does  this  harm  a  gentle  maid. 

Strive  as  thou  canst,  thou  wilt  not  value  o'er 
Thy  life.     Thou  standest  on  a  lighted  shore, 
And  from  the  waves  of  an  unfathomed  sea 
The  noblest  impulses  flow  tenderly  to  thee ; 
Feel  them  as  they  arise,  and  take  them  free. 

Better  live  unknown, 
No  heart  but  thy  own 
Beating  ever  near, 
To  no  mortal  dear 
In  thy  hemisphere, 
Poor  and  wanting  bread, 
97 


WILLIAM   ELLEKY   CHANNING 

Steeped  in  poverty, 

Than  to  be  a  dread, 

Than  to  be  afraid, 

From  thyself  to  flee  ; 

For  it  is  not  living 

To  a  soul  believing, 

To  change  each  noble  joy 

Which  our  strength  employs, 

For  a  state  half  rotten 

And  a  life  of  toys. 

Better  be  forgotten 

Than  lose  equipoise. 
How  shall  I  live  ?     In  earnestness. 
What  shall  I  do?     Work  earnestly. 
What  shall  I  give  ?     A  willingness. 
What  shaU  I  gain  ?     TranquiUity. 
But  do  you  mean  a  quietness 
In  which  I  act  and  no  man  bless  ? 
Flash  out  in  action  infinite  and  free, 
Action  conjoined  with  deep  tranquillity, 
Eesting  upon  the  soul's  true  utterance, 
And  life  shall  flow  as  merry  as  a  dance. 

n. 

Life  is  too  good  to  waste,  enough  to  prize ; 
Keep  looking  round  with  clear  unhooded  eyes ; 


THOUGHTS 


Love  all  thy  brothers,  and  for  them  endure 
Many  privations  ;  the  reward  is  sure. 

A  little  thing!     There  is  no  little  thing ; 
Through  all  a  joyful  song  is  murmuring ; 
Each  leaf,  each  stem,  each  sound  in  winter  drear 
Has  deepest  meanings  for  an  anxious  ear. 

Thou  seest  life  is  sad ;  the  father  mourns  his  wife 

and  child ; 
Keep  in  the  midst  of  heavy  sorrows  a  fair  aspect 

mild. 

A  howling  fox,  a  shrieking  owl, 

A  violent  distracting  ghoul, 

Forms  of  the  most  infuriate  madness,  — 

These  may  not  move  thy  heart  to  gladness, 

But  look  within  the  dark  outside, 

Nought  shalt  thou  hate  and  nought  deride. 

Thou  meet'st  a  common  man 
With  a  delusive  show  of  can. 
His  acts  are  petty  forgeries  of  natural  greatness, 
That  show  a  dreadful  lateness 
Of  this  life's  mighty  impulses ;  a  want  of  truthful 
earnestness ; 

99 


WILLIAM   ELLERY  CHANNING 

He  seems,  not  does,  and  in  that  shows 

No  true  nobility,  — 

A  poor  ductility, 
That  no  proper  office  knows, 
Not  even  estimation  small  of  human  woes. 

Be  not  afraid, 
His  understanding  aid 
With  thy  own  pure  content, 
On  highest  purpose  bent. 

Leave  him  not  lonely, 

For  that  his  admiration 

Fastens  on  self  and  seeming  only ; 

Make  a  right  dedication 

Of  all  thy  strength  to  keep 

From  swelling  that  so  ample  heap 

Of  lives  abused,  of  virtue  given  for  nought, 

And  thus  it  shall  appear  for  all  in  nature   hast 

thou  wrought. 

If  thou  unconsciously  perform  what 's  good, 
Like  nature's  self  thy  proper  mood. 

A  life  well  spent  is  like  a  flower, 
That  had  bright  sunshine  its  brief  hour  ; 
It  flourished  in  pure  willingness ; 
100 


CONTENT 


Discovered  strongest  earnestness ; 
Was  fragrant  for  each  lightest  wind ; 
Was  of  its  own  particular  kind ;  — 
Nor  knew  a  tone  of  discord  sharp  ; 
Breathed  alway  like  a  silver  harp ; 
And  went  to  immortality 
A  very  proper  thing  to  die. 


CONTENT 

WITHIN  the  unpainted  cottage  dwell 
The  spirits  of  serene  content, 

As  clear  as  from  its  moss-grown  well 
Rises  the  crystal  element. 

Above,  the  elm,  whose  trunk  is  scarred 
With  many  a  dint  of  stormy  weather, 

Rises,  a  sumptuous  screen,  debarred 
Of  nothing  that  links  life  together. 

Our  common  life  may  gratify 

More  feelings  than  the  rarest  art, 

For  nothing  can  aspire  so  high 
As  beatings  of  the  human  heart. 
101 


WILLIAM   ELLERY  CHANNING 

O  !  value  then  thy  daily  cheer, 
Poor  pensioner  on  nature's  store, 

And  clasp  the  least,  and  hold  most  dear 
What  seemeth  small,  and  add  the  more. 


A  POET'S   HOPE 

LADY,  there  is  a  hope  that  all  men  have 
Some  mercy  for  their  faults,  a  grassy  place 
To  rest  in,  and  a  flower-strewn,  gentle  grave ; 
Another  hope  which  purifies  our  race, 
That  when  that  fearful  bourn  forever  past, 
They  may  find  rest,  —  and  rest  so  long  to  last. 

I  seek  it  not,  I  ask  no  rest  forever, 

My  path  is  onward  to  the  farthest  shores,  — 

Upbear  me  in  your  arms,  unceasing  river, 

That  from  the  soul's  clear  fountain  swiftly  pours, 

Motionless  not,  until  the  end  is  won, 

Which  now  I  feel  has  scarcely  felt  the  sun. 

To  feel,  to  know,  to  soar  unlimited, 
'Mid  throngs  of  light-winged  angels  sweeping  far, 
And  pore  upon  the  realms  unvisited, 
That  tesselate  the  unseen  unthought  star, 
102 


A  POET'S  HOPE 


To  be  the  thing  that  now  I  feebly  dream 
Flashing  within  my  faintest,  deepest  gleam. 

Ah,  caverns  of  my  soul !  how  thick  your  shade, 
Where  flows  that  life  by  which  I  faintly  see,  — 
Wave  your  bright  torches,  for  I  need  your  aid, 
Golden-eyed  demons  of  my  ancestry ! 
Your  son  though  blinded  hath  a  light  within, 
A  heavenly  fire  which  ye  from  suns  did  win. 

0  Time !     O  Death !     I  clasp  you  in  my  arms, 
For  I  can  soothe  an  infinite  cold  sorrow, 

And  gaze  contented  on  your  icy  charms, 
And   that  wild   snow-pile  which  we  call  to-mor- 
row ; 

Sweep  on,  O  soft,  and  azure-lidded  sky, 
Earth's  waters  to  your  gentle  gaze  reply. 

1  am  not  earth-born,  though  I  here  delay ; 
Hope's  child,  I  summon  infiniter  powers  ; 
And  laugh  to  see  the  mild  and  sunny  day 
Smile  on  the  shrunk  and  thin  autumnal  hours ; 
I  laugh,  for  hope  hath  happy  place  with  me, 
If  my  bark  sink,  '  t  is  to  another  sea. 


103 


WILLIAM   ELLERY  CHANNING 


UNA 

WE  are  centred  deeper  far 
Than  the  eye  of  any  star, 
Nor  can  rays  of  long  sunlight 
Thread  a  pace  of  our  daylight. 
In  thy  form  I  see  the  day 
Burning,  of  a  kingdom  higher, 
In  thy  silver  net- work  play 
Thoughts  that  to  the  Gods  aspire  ; 
In  thy  cheek  I  see  the  flame 
Of  the  studious  taper  burn, 
And  thy  Grecian  eye  might  tame 
Natures  ashed  in  antique  urn ; 
Yet  with  this  lofty  element 
Flows  a  pure  stream  of  gentle  kindness, 
And  thou  to  life  thy  strength  hast  lent, 
And  borne  profoundest  tenderness 
In  thy  Promethean  fearless  arm, 
With  mercy's  love  that  would  all  angels  charm. 

So  trembling  meek,  so  proudly  strong, 
Thou  dost  to  higher  worlds  belong, 
Than  where  I  sing  this  empty  song : 
104 


TO   THE  POETS 


Yet  I,  a  thing  of  mortal  kind, 

Can  kneel  before  thy  pathless  mind, 

And  see  in  thee  what  my  mates  say 

Sank  o'er  Judea's  hills  one  crimson  day. 

Yet  flames  on  high  the  keen  Greek  fire, 

And  later  ages  rarefies, 

And  even  on  my  tuneless  lyre 

A  faint,  wan  beam  of  radiance  dies. 

And  might  I  say  what  I  have  thought 

Of  thee,  and  those  I  love  to-day, 

Then  had  the  world  an  echo  caught 

Of  that  intense,  impassioned  lay, 

Which  sung  in  those  thy  being  sings, 

And  from  the  deepest  ages  rings. 


TO  THE  POETS 

THEY  who  sing  the  deeds  of  men, 

From  the  earth  upraise  their  fame, 
Monuments  in  marble  pen, 

Keeping  ever  sweet  their  name, 
Tell  me,  Poets,  do  I  hear, 
What  you  sing,  with  pious  ear  ? 

They  who  sing  the  maiden's  kiss, 
And  the  silver  sage's  thought, 
105 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 

Loveliness  of  inward  bliss, 

Or  the  graver  learning  taught, 

Tell  me,  are  your  skies  and  streams 
Real,  or  the  shape  of  dreams  ? 

Many  rainy  days  must  go, 

Many  clouds  the  sun  obscure, 
But  your  verses  clearly  show, 

And  your  lovely  thoughts  more  pure, 
Mortals  are  we,  but  you  are 
Burning  keenly  like  a  star. 


HYMN   OF  THE   EARTH 

MY  highway  is  unfeatured  air, 
My  consorts  are  the  sleepless  stars, 
And  men  my  giant  arms  upbear, 
My  arms  unstained  and  free  from  scars. 

I  rest  forever  on  my  way, 
Rolling  around  the  happy  sun, 
My  children  love  the  sunny  day, 
But  noon  and  night  to  me  are  one. 

My  heart  has  pulses  like  their  own, 
I  am  their  Mother,  and  my  veins 
106 


NATURE 


Though  built  of  the  enduring  stone, 
Thrill  as  do  theirs  with  godlike  pains. 

The  forests  and  the  mountains  high, 
The  foaming  ocean  and  the  springs, 
The  plains,  —  O  pleasant  company, 
My  voice  through  all  your  anthems  rings. 

Ye  are  so  cheerful  in  your  minds, 
Content  to  smile,  content  to  share, 
My  being  in  your  chorus  finds 
The  echo  of  the  spheral  air. 

No  leaf  may  fall,  no  pebble  roll, 
No  drop  of  water  lose  the  road, 
The  issues  of  the  general  Soul 
Are  mirrored  in  its  round  abode. 


NATURE 

r  LOVE  the  universe,  —  I  love  the  joy 
Of  every  living  thing.     Be  mine  the  sure 
Felicity,  which  ever  shall  endure  ; 
While  passion  whirls  the  madmen,  as  they  toy, 
To  hate,  I  would  my  simple  being  warm 
107 


WILLIAM   ELLERY   CHANNING 

In  the  calm  pouring  sun  ;  and  in  that  pure 

And  motionless  silence,  ever  would  employ 

My  best  true  powers,  without  a  thought's  annoy. 

See  and  be  glad !     O  high  imperial  race, 

Dwarfing  the  common  attitude  of  strength, 

Learn  that  ye  stand  on  an  unshaken  base ; 

Your  powers  will  carry  you  to  any  length. 

Up !  earnestly  feel  the  gentle  sunset  beams  ; 

Be  glad  in  woods,  o'er  sands ;  by  marsh,  or  streams. 


PRIMAVERA,  THE  BREATH  OF  SPRING 

WITH  the  rush  and  whirl  of  the  fleet  wild  brook, 
And  the  leap  of  the  deer  thro'  the  deep  wild  wood, 
And  the  eyes  of  the  flowers  with  that  gentle  look 
That  shines  in  the  hearts  of  the  truly  good, 
Dost  thou  refresh  my  weary  mood. 

And  chantest  thy  hymn  in  the  forest  old, 
Where  the  buds  of  the  trees  and  their  hearts  of  fire 
Start  to  the  song  of  thy  harps  of  gold 
As  the  maiden  with  a  timid  desire 

At  the  thrill  of  her  love's  soft  lyre. 

Thou  passest  thy  hand  o'er  the  yellow  fields 
With  a  light  caress  like  a  mother's  smile, 
108 


CONFESSIO  AMANTIS 

And  the  bright,  soft  grass  to  thy  impulse  yields 
The  green  of  its  life  that  has  slept  the  while ; 

Sweet  Spring !     Thou  knowest  many  a  wile. 

And  joyfully,  Spring,  I  welcome  thee  down 
To  the  heavy  hearts  of  my  fellow-men ; 
To  the  windows  dark  of  the  thick-built  town, 
And  the  scholar  who  sits  with  his  tiresome  pen, 
In  the  shadow  of  his  den. 

Frolic,  sweet  flowers,  along  the  wall-side, 
Along  the  roadway  where  the  foot-path  goes, 
And,  ferns,  in  the  pines  where  the  rivers  glide, 
Be  as  cheerful  as  where  the  musk-rose  blows, 
And  gay  as  a  child  each  thing  that  grows. 


CONFESSIO  AMANTIS 

I  STILL  can  suffer  pain ; 
I  strive  and  hope  in  vain ; 
My  wounds  may  not  all  heal, 
Nor  time  their  depth  reveal. 

So  dreamed  I,  of  a  summer  day, 

As  in  the  oak's  cool  shade  I  lay, 

109 


WILLIAM   ELLERY  CHANNING 

And  thought  that  shining,  lightsome  river 
Went  rippling,  rippling  on  forever  :  — 

That  I  should  bend  with  pain, 
Should  sing  and  love  in  vain ; 
That  I  should  fret  and  pine, 
And  hopeless  thought  define. 

I  want  a  true  and  simple  heart, 

That  asks  no  pleasure  in  a  part, 

But  seeks  the  whole ;  and  finds  the  soul, 

A  heart  at  rest,  in  sure  control. 

I  shall  accept  all  I  may  have, 
Or  fine  or  foul,  or  rich  or  brave ; 
Accept  that  measure  in  life's  cup, 
And  touch  the  rim,  and  raise  it  up. 

Some  drop  of  Time's  strange  glass  it  holds, 
So  much  endurance  it  enfolds  ; 
Or  base  and  small,  or  broadly  meant, 
I  cannot  spill  God's  element. 

Dion  or  Cffisar  drained  no  more, 
Not  Solon,  nor  a  Plato's  lore ; 
So  much  had  they  the  power  to  do, 
So  much  hadst  thou,  and  equals  too. 
110 


James  jfreeman  Clarfte 

HYMN  AND  PRAYER 

INFINITE  Spirit !  who  art  round  us  ever, 
In  whom  we  float  as  motes  In  summer  sky, 

May  neither  life  nor  death  the  sweet  bond  sever, 
Which  joins  us  to  our  unseen  Friend  on  high. 

Unseen,  yet  not  unfelt,  if  any  thought 

Has  raised  our  mind  from  earth,  or  pure  desire, 

Or  generous  act,  or  noble  purpose  brought, 
It  is  thy  breath,  O  Lord,  which  fans  the  fire. 

To  me,  the  meanest  of  thy  creatures,  kneeling, 
Conscious   of    weakness,    ignorance,    sin,    and 
shame, 

Give  such  a  force  of  holy  thought  and  feeling, 
That  I  may  live  to  glorify  thy  name ; 

That  I  may  conquer  base  desire  and  passion, 

That  I  may  rise  o'er  selfish  thought  and  will, 
O'ercome  the  world's  allurement,  threat,  and  fash- 
ion, 

Walk  humbly,  softly,  leaning  on  thee  stilL 
ill 


JAMES  FREEMAN  CLAEKE 

I  am  unworthy.     Yet  for  their  dear  sake, 
I  ask,  whose  roots  planted  in  me  are  found, 

For  precious  vines  are  propped  by  rudest  stake, 
And  heavenly  roses  fed  in  darkest  ground. 

Beneath  my  leaves,  though  early  fallen  and  faded, 
Young    plants    are    warmed,    they   drink    my 

branches'  dew, 

Let  them  not,  Lord,  by  me  be  Upas-shaded, 
Make  me  for  their  sake  firm,  and  pure,  and 
true. 

For  their  sake  too,  the  faithful,  wise,  and  bold, 
Whose  generous  love  has  been  my  pride  and 
stay, 

Those,  who  have  found  in  me  some  trace  of  gold, 
For  their  sake  purify  my  lead  and  clay. 

And  let  not  all  the  pains  and  toil  be  wasted, 

Spent   on   my   youth   by  saints   now   gone   to 
rest, 

Nor  that  deep  sorrow  my  Redeemer  tasted, 
When  on  his  soul  the  guilt  of  man  was  prest. 

Tender  and  sensitive  he  braved  the  storm, 
That  we  might  fly  a  well  deserved  fate, 
112 


HYMN  AND   PRAYEK 


Poured  out  his  soul  in  supplication  warm, 
Looked  with  his  eyes  of  love  on  eyes  of  hate. 

Let  all  this  goodness  by  my  mind  be  seen, 
Let  all  this  mercy  on  my  heart  be  sealed, 

Lord,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  power  can  make  me  clean, 
O  speak  the  word,  thy  servant  shall  be  healed. 


113 


J^retretic 

QUESTIONINGS 

HATH  this  world,  without  me  wrought, 

Other  substance  than  my  thought? 

Lives  it  by  my  sense  alone, 

Or  by  essence  of  its  own  ? 

Will  its  life,  with  mine  begun, 

Cease  to  be  when  that  is  done, 

Or  another  consciousness 

With  the  self -same  forms  impress? 

Doth  yon  fireball,  poised  in  air, 
Hang  by  my  permission  there  ? 
Are  the  clouds  that  wander  by 
But  the  offspring  of  mine  eye, 
Born  with  every  glance  I  cast, 
Perishing  when  that  is  past  ? 
And  those  thousand,  thousand  eyes, 
Scattered  through  the  twinkling  skies, 
Do  they  draw  their  life  from  mine, 
Or  of  their  own  beauty  shine  ? 

Now  I  close  my  eyes,  my  ears, 
And  creation  disappears ; 
114 


QUESTIONINGS 


Yet  if  I  but  speak  the  word, 

All  creation  is  restored. 

Or,  more  wonderful,  within 

New  creations  do  begin  ; 

Hues  more  bright  and  forms  more  rare 

Than  reality  doth  wear 

Flash  across  my  inward  sense, 

Born  of  the  mind's  omnipotence. 

Soul !  that  all  inf onnest,  say ! 
Shall  these  glories  pass  away? 
Will  those  planets  cease  to  blaze 
When  these  eyes  no  longer  gaze 
And  the  life  of  things  be  o'er 
When  these  pulses  beat  no  more? 

Thought !  that  in  me  works  and  lives,  — 
Life  to  all  things  living  gives,  — 
Art  thou  not  thyself,  perchance, 
But  the  universe  in  trance  ? 
A  reflection  inly  flung 
By  that  world  thou  fanciedst  sprung 
From  thyself  —  thyself  a  dream  — 
Of  the  world's  thinking  thou  the  theme. 

Be  it  thus,  or  be  thy  birth 
From  a  source  above  the  earth  — 
115 


FEEDEEIC  HENRY  HEDGE 

Be  thou  matter,  be  thou  mind, 

In  thee  alone  myself  I  find, 

And  through  thee  alone,  for  me, 

Hath  this  world  reality. 

Therefore,  in  thee  will  I  live, 

To  thee  all  myself  will  give, 

Losing  still,  that  I  may  find 

This  bounded  self  in  boundless  Mind. 


116 


;?»oi)n  r  ullilian 

REST 


SWEET  is  the  pleasure 
Itself  cannot  spoil  ! 

Is  not  true  leisure 
One  with  true  toil  ? 

Thou  that  wouldst  taste  it, 

Still  do  thy  best  ; 
Use  it,  not  waste  it, 

Else  't  is  no  rest. 

Wouldst  behold  beauty 
Near  thee  ?  all  round  ? 

Only  hath  duty 

Such  a  sight  found. 

Rest  is  not  quitting 

The  busy  career  ; 
Rest  is  the  fitting 

Of  self  to  its  sphere. 

'T  is  the  brook's  motion, 

Clear  without  strife, 

117 


JOHN   SULLIVAN  DWIGHT 

Fleeing  to  ocean 
After  its  life. 

Deeper  devotion 

Nowhere  hath  knelt ; 
Fuller  emotion 

Heart  never  felt. 

'T  is  loving  and  serving 
The  Highest  and  Best ! 

'T  is  onwards,  unswerving, 
And  that  is  true  rest. 


WORK   WHILE  IT  IS   DAY 

WOKK,  and  thou  wilt  bless  the  day 

Ere  the  toil  be  done ; 
They  that  work  not  cannot  pray, 

Cannot  feel  the  sun. 
God  is  living,  working  still ; 

All  things  work  and  move  ; 
Work,  or  lose  the  power  to  will, 

Lose  the  power  to  love. 

All  the  rolling  planets  glow 
Bright  as  burning  gold ; 
118 


MUSIC 


Should  they  pause,  how  soon  they  'd  grow 

Colorless  and  cold ! 
Joy  and  beauty,  where  were  they, 

If  the  world  stood  still  ? 
Like  the  world,  thy  law  obey, 

And  thy  calling  fill. 

Love  to  labor  owes  its  health, 

Will  its  willing  powers  ; 
Industry  alone  is  wealth, 

What  we  do  is  ours. 
Load  the  day  with  deeds  of  thought, 

While  it  waits  for  thee  ; 
Then  despatch  it,  richly  fraught, 

To  eternity. 

MUSIC 

Music  's  the  measure  of  the  planet's  motion, 

Heart-beat  and  rhythm  of  the  glorious  whole ; 
Fugue-like  the  streams  roll,  and  the  choral  ocean 

Heaves  in  obedience  to  its  high  control. 
Thrills  through  all  hearts  the  uniform  vibration, 

Starting  from  God,  and  felt  from  sun  to  sun ; 
God  gives  the  key-note,  Love  to  all  creation ; 

Join,  O  my  soul,  and  let  all  souls  be  one ! 
119 


IBlija 


"THE  FUTUKE  IS   BETTEE  THAN 
THE  PAST" 

NOT  where  long-passed  ages  sleep 
Seek  we  Eden's  golden  trees  ; 

In  the  future,  folded  deep, 
Are  its  mystic  harmonies. 

All  before  us  lies  the  way, 
Give  the  past  unto  the  wind  ; 

All  before  us  is  the  day, 

Night  and  darkness  are  behind. 

Eden  with  its  angels  bold, 

Love  and  flowers  and  coolest  sea, 

Is  not  ancient  story  told, 
But  a  glowing  prophecy. 

In  the  spirit's  perfect  air, 

In  the  passions  tame  and  kind, 

Innocence  from  selfish  care, 
The  real  Eden  we  shall  find. 
120 


THE  FUTURE  BETTER 

It  is  coming,  it  shall  come, 

To  the  patient  and  the  striving, 

To  the  quiet  heart  at  home, 

Thinking  wise  and  faithful  living. 

When  all  error  is  worked  out 

From  the  heart  and  from  the  life  ; 

When  the  sensuous  is  laid  low, 
Through  the  spirit's  holy  strife ; 

When  the  soul  to  sin  hath  died, 
True  and  beautiful  and  sound ; 

Then  all  earth  is  sanctified, 
Up  springs  Paradise  around. 

Then  shall  come  the  Eden  days, 
Guardian  watch  from  seraph-eyes ; 

Angels  on  the  slanting  rays, 
Voices  from  the  opening  skies, 

From  this  spirit-land  afar 

All  disturbing  force  shall  flee  ; 

Stir  nor  toil  nor  hope  shall  mar 
Its  immortal  unity. 

121 


ELIZA  THAYEK  CLAPP 


HYMN  TO  THE   GOD   OF  STARS 

GOD  of  those  splendid  stars  !  I  need 
Thy  presence,  need  to  know 

That  thou  art  God,  my  God  indeed. 

Cold  and  far  off  they  shine,  they  glow, 
In  their  strange  brightness,  like  to  spirit's  eyes, 
Awful,  intensely  on  my  naked  soul ; 
Beautiful  are  they,  but  so  strange,  so  cold, 
I  know  them  not :   I  shrink,  I  cling 
Like  a  scared  insect  to  this  whirling  ball, 
Upon  whose  swelling  lines  I  woke  one  morn, 
Unknowing  who  I  was  or  whence  I  came ; 
And  still  I  know  not :  fastened  to  its  verge 
By  a  resistless  power,  with  it  I  speed 
On  its  eternal  way,  and  those  strange  eyes, 
Those  starry  eyes,  look  ever  on  me  thus; 
I  wake,  I  sleep,  but  still  they  look  on  me, 
Mild  yet  reproachful,  beautiful  but  strange. 
Visions  are  round  me,  —  many  moving  things, 
In  clothing  beautiful,  soft  and  colored  forms 
With  drooping  heads  caressing ;  eyes  so  meek 
And  loving  and  appealing,  but  they  hold 
A  nature  strange  and  different,  each  enwrapt 
In  its  own  mortal  mystery :  near  they  are, 
122 


THE  GOD  OF  STARS 


And  yet  how  distant,  —  familiar,  fond, 

Yet  strangers  all !     I  know  not  what  they  are. 

And  higher  forms,  from  out  whose  mystic  eyes, 
Gracefully  curved  and  vestal-like,  obscured 
By  shading  lashes,  looks  a  being  out, 
That  seems  myself  and  is  not,  —  kindred  linked, 
Yet  most  communionless :  I  know  them  not, 
Nor  they  know  me  ;  nearest,  yet  most  apart, 
Moving  in  saddest  mystery  each  to  each, 
Like  spellbound  souls  that  coldly  meet  in  dreams 
Which  in  some  waking  hour  had  intertwined. 

Yet  some,  too,  woven  with  me  in  a  veil, 
Viewless,  but  all-enduring,  —  kindred  love : 
Their  eyes  are  on  me  like  awakening  light ;  . 
They  touch  my  forehead,  press  my  given  hand, 
Smile  rare  or  oft,  or  sit  most  silently ; 
Yet  all  is  understood,  —  the  watchful  care, 
The  sympathetic  joy,  and  the  unutterable  wealth 
Of  helping  tears,  —  all,  all  is  understood  : 
Sure  these  are  me ;  sure  my  affections,  theirs, 
Awe-stricken  thoughts  and  over-rushing  sins, 
My  hopes,  my  loves,  my  struggles,  and  my  straits 
Are  theirs  to  bear,  to  know,  to  carry  out, 
To  sift,  to  learn,  to  war  and  wrestle  through, 
123 


ELIZA  THAYER  CLAPP 

Ah,  no  !  oh,  no  !  for  every  spirit  round 
There  is  a  circle  where  no  other  comes. 
Even  when  we  lay  our  head  upon  the  breast, 
And  pour  our  thoughts  as  liquid  jewels  out, 
And  feel  the  strength  that  comes  from  soul  be- 
loved 

Steal  through  our  own  as  steals  the  living  heat, 
Nurture  and  bloom  into  the  opening  leaves  ; 
Yet  is  the  spirit  lone,  —  its  problem  deep 
No  other  may  work  out ;  its  mystic  way 
No  other  wing  may  try  :  passionate  hopes, 
Mighty  yet  powerless,  and  most  awful  fears, 
Its  strength  ne'er  equal  to  the  burden  laid, 
Longings  to  stop,  yet  eagerness  to  go, 
Is  its  alone  ;  a  wall  unscalable 
Circuits  the  soul,  —  its  fellows  cannot  pass  ; 
The  mother  may  not  spoil  the  child,  to  take 
The  youthful  burden  on  her  willing  heart, 
Nor  friend  enfranchise  friend.     Alone,  alone 
The  soul  must  do  its  own  immortal  work ; 
The  best  beloved  most  distant  are  ;  the  near 
Far  severed  wide.     Soul  knows  not  soul, 
Not  more  than  these  unanswering  stars  divine. 

God  of  these  stars  sublime !  I  need 
Thy  presence,  need  to  know 
124 


THE  GOD  OF  STARS 


That  thou  art  God,  my  God  indeed. 
Shield  me,  'mid  thine  innumerable  worlds  ; 
Give  me  some  point  where  I  may  rest, 

While  thy  unceasing  ages  flow ; 
Hide  me  from  thine  irradiated  stars, 
And  the  far  sadder  light,  untraceable 
Of  human  eyes  ;  for  strangers  are  they  all, 
A  wandering  thought  on  the  resistless  air ; 
A  questioning  wail  o'er  the  unlistening  sea. 
Recall,  Eternal  Source !  and  reassume 
In  thine  own  essence  peace  unutterable  ! 


125 


€f)arle0  STi 

THE   GREAT  VOICES 

A  VOICE  from  the  sea  to  the  mountains, 
From  the  mountains  again  to  the  sea ; 

A  call  from  the  deep  to  the  fountains : 
O  spirit !  be  glad  and  be  free ! 

A  cry  from  the  floods  to  the  fountains, 
And  the  torrents  repeat  the  glad  song 

As  they  leap  from  the  breast  of  the  mountains 
O  spirit !  be  free  and  be  strong  ! 

The  pine  forests  thrill  with  emotion 
Of  praise  as  the  spirit  sweeps  by ; 

With  the  voice  like  the  murmur  of  ocean 
To  the  soul  of  the  listener  they  cry. 

Oh,  sing,  human  heart,  like  the  fountains, 

With  joy  reverential  and  free ; 
Contented  and  calm  as  the  mountains, 

And  deep  as  the  woods  and  the  sea. 


126 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE   PINE 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PINE 

O  TALL  old  pine  !  O  gloomy  pine ! 
Old  grim,  gigantic,  gloomy  pine ! 
What  is  there  in  that  voice  of  thine 
That  thrills  so  deep  this  heart  of  mine  ? 

Is  it  that  in  thy  mournful  sigh 
Old  years  and  voices  long  gone  by, 
And  feelings  that  can  never  die, 
Come  thronging  back  on  memory  ? 

Is  it  that  in  thy  solemn  roar 
My  listening  spirit  hears  once  more 
The  trumpet-music  of  the  host 
Of  billows  round  my  native  coast  ? 

Or  is  it  that  I  catch  a  sound 

Of  that  more  vast  and  dread  profound,  - 

The  soul's  unfathomable  sea, 

The  ocean  of  eternity? 


127 


lEUen  Conger 

BEAUTY  AND  DUTY 

I  SLEPT,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty ; 
I  woke,  and  found  that  life  was  duty. 
Was  thy  dream  then  a  shadowy  lie  ? 
Toil  on,  sad  heart,  courageously, 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  to  be 
A  noonday  light  and  truth  to  thee. 

THE  STRAIGHT  ROAD 

BEAUTY  may  be  the  path  to  highest  good, 

And  some  successfully  have  it  pursued. 

Thou,  who  wouldst  follow,  be  well  warned  to  see 

That  way  prove  not  a  curved  road  to  thee. 

The  straightest  path  perhaps  which  may  be  sought, 

Lies  through  the  great  highway  men  call  "  I  ought." 

THE   HEART'S  CURE 

"  HEART,  heart,  lie  still ! 
Life  is  fleeting  fast, 
128 


THE  POET 


Strife  will  soon  be  past." 
"  I  cannot  lie  still, 
Beat  strong  I  will." 

"  Heart,  heart,  lie  still ! 
Joy 's  but  joy,  and  pain 's  but  pain, 
Either,  little  loss  or  gain." 

"  I  cannot  lie  still, 

Beat  strong  I  will." 

"  Heart,  heart,  lie  still ! 
Heaven  is  over  all, 
Rules  this  earthly  ball." 

"  I  cannot  lie  still, 

Beat  strong  I  will." 

"  Heart,  heart,  lie  still  I 
Heaven's  sweet  grace  alone 
Can  keep  in  peace  its  own." 

"  Let  that  me  fill, 

And  I  am  still." 


THE   POET 

HE  touched  the  earth,  a  soul  of  flame, 
His  bearing  proud,  his  spirit  high, 
129 


ELLEN  HOOPER 


Filled  with  the  heavens  from  whence  he  came, 
He  smiled  upon  man's  destiny. 

Yet  smiled  as  one  who  knew  no  fear, 
And  felt  a  secret  strength  within, 
Who  wondered  at  the  pitying  tear 
Shed  over  human  loss  and  sin. 

Lit  by  an  inward  brighter  light, 
Than  aught  that  round  about  him  shone, 
He  walked  erect  through  shades  of  night, 
Clear  was  his  pathway,  but  how  lone ! 

Men  gaze  in  wonder  and  in  awe 
Upon  a  form  so  like  to  theirs, 
Worship  the  presence,  yet  withdraw, 
And  carry  elsewhere  warmer  prayers. 

Yet  when  the  glorious  pilgrim  guest, 
Forgetting  once  his  strange  estate, 
Unloosed  the  lyre  from  off  his  breast 
And  strung  its  chords  to  human  fate ; 

And  gaily  snatching  some  rude  air, 
Carolled  by  idle  passing  tongue, 
Gave  back  the  notes  that  lingered  there, 
And  in  heaven's  tones  earth's  low  lay  sung ; 
130 


THE  NOBLY  BORN 


Then  warmly  grasped  the  hand  that  sought 
To  thank  him  with  a  brother's  soul, 
And  when  the  generous  wine  was  brought, 
Shared  in  the  feast  and  quaffed  the  bowl ;  — 

Men  kid  their  hearts  low  at  his  feet, 
And  sunned  their  being  in  his  light, 
Pressed  on  his  way  his  steps  to  greet, 
And  in  his  love  forgot  his  might. 

And  when,  a  wanderer  long  on  earth, 

On  him  its  shadow  also  fell, 

And  dimmed  the  lustre  of  a  birth, 

"Whose  day-spring  was  from  heaven's  own  well, 

They  cherished  even  the  tears  he  shed, 
Their  woes  were  hallowed  by  his  woe, 
Humanity,  half  cold  and  dead, 
Had  been  revived  in  genius'  glow. 


THE   NOBLY  BORN 

WHO  counts  himself  as  nobly  born 

Is  noble  in  despite  of  place, 
And  honors  are  but  brands  to  one 

Who  wears  them  not  with  nature's  grace. 
131 


ELLEN  HOOPEK 


The  prince  may  sit  with  clown  or  churl, 
Nor  feel  his  state  disgraced  thereby ; 

But  he  who  has  but  small  esteem 
Husbands  that  little  carefully. 

Then,  be  thou  peasant,  be  thou  peer, 

Count  it  still  more  thou  art  thine  own ; 
Stand  on  a  larger  heraldry 

Than  that  of  nation  or  of  zone. 

i 

What  though  not  bid  to  knightly  halls  ? 

Those  halls  have  missed  a  courtly  guest ; 
That  mansion  is  not  privileged, 

Which  is  not  open  to  the  best. 

Give  honor  due  when  custom  asks, 
Nor  wrangle  for  this  lesser  claim  ; 

It  is  not  to  be  destitute, 

To  have  the  thing  without  the  name. 

Then  dost  thou  come  of  gentle  blood, 
Disgrace  not  thy  good  company ;  — 

If  lowly  born,  so  bear  thyself 

That  gentle  blood  may  come  of  thee. 

Strive  not  with  pain  to  scale  the  height 
Of  some  fair  garden's  petty  wall, 
132 


WAYFAKERS 


But  scale  the  open  mountain  side, 
Whose  summit  rises  over  all. 


THE   GOAL 

I  SPEANG  on  life's  free  course,  I  tasked  myself, 
And  questioned  what  and  how  I  meant  to  be ; 

And  leaving  far  behind  me  power  and  pelf, 
I  fixed  a  goal,  —  nor  farther  could  I  see. 

For  this  I  toiled,  for  this  I  ran  and  bled, 
And  proudly  thought  upon  my  laurels  there. 

Lo,  here  I  stand !  all  childlike  to  be  led. 
My  goal,  self-fixed,  has  vanished  into  air. 

I  run,  I  toil,  but  see  not  all  my  way ; 

Ever  more  pure  it  shines  into  a  perfect  day. 


WAYFARERS 

How  they  go  by  —  those  strange  and  dreamlike 

men ! 
One  glance  on  each,  one  gleam  from  out  each 

eye, 

And  that  I  never  looked  upon  till  now, 
Has  vanished  out  of  sight  as  instantly. 
133 


ELLEN  HOOPER 


Yet  in  it  passed  there  a  whole  heart  and  life, 
The  only  key  it  gave  that  transient  look  ; 

But  for  this  key  its  great  event  in  time 
Of  peace  or  strife  to  me  a  sealed  book. 

THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP 

SWEEP  ho !     Sweep  ho ! 
He  trudges  on  through  sleet  and  snow. 
Tired  and  hungry  both  is  he, 
And  he  whistles  vacantly. 
Sooty  black  his  rags  and  skin, 
But  the  child  is  fair  within. 
Ice  and  cold  are  better  far 
Than  his  master's  curses  are. 
Mother  of  this  little  one, 
Couldst  thou  see  thy  little  son ! 

Sweep  ho  !     Sweep  ho ! 
He  trudges  on  through  sleet  and  snow. 
At  the  great  man's  door  he  knocks, 
Which  the  servant  maid  unlocks. 
Now  let  in  with  laugh  and  jeer, 
In  his  eye  there  stands  a  tear. 
He  is  young,  but  soon  will  know 
How  to  bear  both  word  and  blow. 
134 


A  SPIRIT   SHROUDED 

Sweep  ho !     Sweep  ho ! 
In  the  chimney  sleet  and  snow. 
Gladly  should  his  task  be  done, 
Were  't  the  last  beneath  the  sun. 
Faithfully  it  now  shall  be, 
But,  soon  spent,  down  droppeth  he. 
Gazes  round  as  in  a  dream, 
Very  strange,  but  true,  things  seem. 
Led  by  a  fantastic  power 
Which  sets  by  the  present  hour, 
Creeps  he  to  a  little  bed, 
Pillows  there  his  aching  head, 
Falls  into  a  sudden  sleep 
Like  his  childhood's  sweet  and  deep ; 
But,  poor  thing !  he  does  not  know 
Here  he  lay  long  years  ago ! 


HYMN  OF  A  SPIRIT  SHROUDED 

O  GOD,  who,  in  thy  dear  still  heaven, 

Dost  sit,  and  wait  to  see 
The  errors,  sufferings,  and  crimes 

Of  our  humanity, 
How  deep  must  be  thy  causal  love ! 

How  whole  thy  final  care ! 
135 


ELLEN  HOOPER 


Since  Thou,  who  rulest  over  all, 
Canst  see,  and  yet  canst  bear. 


ONE  ABOUT  TO   DIE 

OH,  melancholy  liberty 

Of  one  about  to  die  — 

When  friends,  with  a  sad  smile, 

And  aching  heart  the  while, 

Every  caprice  allow, 

Nor  deem  it  worth  while  now 

To  check  the  restless  will 

Which  death  so  soon  shall  still. 


TO  R.  W.  E. 

DRY  lighted  soul,  the  ray  that  shines  in  thee, 
Shot  without  reflex  from  primeval  sun, 

We  twine  the  laurel  for  the  victories 

Which  thou  on  thought's  broad,  bloodless  field 
hast  won. 

Thou  art  the  mountain  where  we  climb  to  see 
The  land  our  feet  have  trod  this  many  a  year. 
136 


THE   WOOD-FIRE 


Thou  art  the  deep  and  crystal  winter  sky, 

Where  noiseless,  one  by  one,  bright  stars  appear. 

It  may  be  Bacchus,  at  thy  birth,  forgot 

That  drop  from  out  the  purple  grape  to  press 

Which  is  his  gift  to  man,  and  so  thy  blood 

Doth  miss  the  heat  which  ofttimes  breeds  excess. 

But,  all  more  surely  do  we  turn  to  thee 

When  the  day's  heat  and  blinding  dust  are  o'er, 

And  cool  our  souls  in  thy  refreshing  air, 

And  find  the  peace  which  we  had  lost  before. 


THE   WOOD-FIRE 

THIS  bright  wood-fire 
So  like  to  that  which  warmed  and  lit 
My  youthful  days  —  how  doth  it  flit 

Back  on  the  periods  nigher, 
Relighting  and  rewarming  with  its  glow 
The  bright  scenes  of  my  youth  —  all  gone  out  now. 
How  eagerly  its  nickering  blaze  doth  catch 
On  every  point  now  wrapped  in  time's  deep  shade, 
Into  what  wild  grotesqueness  by  its  flash 
And  fitful  checquering  is  the  picture  made ! 
When  I  am  glad  or  gay, 
137 


ELLEN   HOOPEK 


Let  me  walk  forth  into  the  brilliant  sun, 
And  with  congenial  rays  be  shone  upon ; 
When  I  am  sad,  or  thought-bewitched  would  be, 
Let  me  glide  forth  in  moonlight's  mystery, 
But  never,  while  I  live  this  changeful  life, 
This  past  and  future  with  all  wonders  rife, 
Never,  bright  flame,  may  be  denied  to  me 
Thy  dear,  life-imaging,  close  sympathy. 
What  but  my  hopes  shot  upward  e'er  so  bright? 
What  but  my  fortunes  sank  so  low  in  night? 

Why  art  thou  banished  from  our  hearth  and  hall, 
Thou  who  art  welcomed  and  beloved  by  all  ? 
Was  thy  existence  then  too  fanciful 
For  our  life's  common  light,  who  are  so  dull  ? 
Did  thy  bright  gleam  mysterious  converse  hold 
With  our  congenial  souls  ?  secrets  too  bold  ? 
Well,  we  are  safe  and  strong,  for  now  we  sit 
Beside  a  hearth  where  no  dim  shadows  flit, 
WThere  nothing  cheers  nor  saddens,  but  a  fire 
Warms  feet  and  hands  —  nor  does  to  more  aspire ; 
By  whose  compact,  utilitarian  heap, 
The  present  may  sit  down  and  go  to  sleep, 
Nor  fear  the  ghosts  who  from  the  dim  past  walked, 
And  with  us  by  the  unequal  light  of  the  old  wood- 
fire  talked. 

138 


TO  THE   IDEAL 


TO  THE   IDEAL 

AH  !  what  avails  it  thus  to  dream  of  thee, 
Thou  life  above  me,  and  aspire  to  be 
A  dweller  in  thy  air  serene  and  pure  ; 
I  wake,  and  must  this  lower  life  endure. 

Look  no  more  on  me  with  sun-radiant  eyes, 
Mine  droop  so  dimmed,  in  vain  my  weak  sense  tries 
To  find  the  color  of  this  world  of  clay,  — 
Its  hue  has  faded,  its  light  died  away. 

In  charity  with  life,  how  can  I  live  ? 
What  most  I  want,  does  it  refuse  to  give. 
Thou,  who  hast  laid  this  spell  upon  my  soul, 
Must  be  to  me  henceforth  a  hope  and  goal. 

Away,  thou  vision !     Now  must  there  be  wrought 
Armor  from  life  in  which  may  yet  be  fought 
A  way  to  thee,  —  thy  memory  shall  inspire, 
Although  thy  presence  is  consuming  fire. 

As  one  who  may  not  linger  in  the  halls, 
And  fair  domains  of  this  ancestral  home, 
139 


ELLEN   HOOPER 


Goes  forth  to  labor,  yet  resolves  those  walls, 
Redeemed,  shall  see  his  old  age  cease  to  roam,  — 

So  exile  I  myself,  thou  dream  of  youth, 

Thou  castle  where  my  wild  thoughts  wandered  free, 

Yet,  bear  a  heart,    which,    through   its  love  and 

truth, 
Shall  earn  a  right  to  throb  its  last  with  thee. 

To  work !  with  heart  resigned,  and  spirit  strong, 
Subdued  by  patient  toil  Time's  heavy  wrong ; 
Through  nature's  dullest,  as  her  brightest  ways 
We  will  march  onward,  singing  to  thy  praise. 

Yet  when  our  souls  are  in  new  forms  arrayed, 

Like  thine,  immortal,  by  immortal  aid, 

And  with  forgiving  blessing  stand  beside 

The  clay  in  which  they  toiled  and  long  were  tried. 

When  comes  that  solemn  "  undetermined  "  hour, 
Light  of  the  soul's  light !  present  be  thy  power ; 
And  welcome  be  thou,  as  a  friend  who  waits 
With  joy,  a  soul  unsphered  at  heaven's  gates. 


140 


Caroline 

ART  AND  ARTIST 

WITH  dauntless  eye  the  lofty  one 

Moves  on  through  life  ; 
Majestic  as  the  mighty  sun 

He  knows  no  strife. 

He  sees  the  thought  flow  to  the  form, 
And  rise  like  bubble  bright ; 

A  moment  of  beauty,  —  and  it  is  gone, 
Dissolved  in  light. 

AFTERNOON 

I  LIE  upon  the  earth  and  feed  upon  the  sky, 
Drink  in  the  soft,  deep  blue,  falling  from  on  high. 
Walnut  boughs,  all  steeped  in  gold,  quiver  to  and 

fro; 
Winds  like  spirits  murmur,  as  through  the  air  they 

go. 

My  soul  is  filled  with  joy  and  holy  faith  and  love, 

For  noble  friends  on  earth  and  angels  pure  above. 

141 


CAROLINE   TAPPAN 


LINES 

You  go  to  the  woods  —  what  there  have  you  seen  ? 
Quivering  leaves  glossy  and  green ; 
Lights  and  shadows  dance  to  and  fro, 
Beautiful  flowers  in  the  soft  moss  grow. 
Is  the  secret  of  these  things  known  to  you  ? 
Can  you  tell  what  gives  the  flower  its  hue  ? 
Why  the  oak  spreads  out  its  limbs  so  wide  ? 
And  the  graceful  grape-vine  grows  by  its  side  ? 
Why  clouds  full  of  sunshine  are  piled  on  high? 
What  sends  the  wind  to  sweep  through  the  sky  ? 
No !  the  secret  of  Nature  I  do  not  know  — 
A  poor  groping  child,  through  her  marvels  I  go ! 


THE   BROOK 

ALL  the  eyes  I  ever  knew 

In  this  my  strange  life-dream, 

Hazel,  gray,  and  deepest  blue, 
Are  mingled  in  this  stream. 

It  wins  its  way  into  my  soul, 
Awakes  each  hidden  feeling, 
142 


THE   HERO 


Gives  me  a  rapture  beyond  control, 
High  love  fills  all  my  being. 

In  earnest  eyes  I  chiefly  live, 
All  words  to  me  are  naught, 

For  me  they  neither  take  nor  give, 
In  the  eye  the  soul  is  caught. 

And  now  to  see  all  that  I  love, 
And  have  gazed  at  many  an  hour, 

Blended  together,  —  has  heaven  above 
A  greater  joy  in  store  ? 


THE  HERO 

THOU  hast  learned  the  woes  of  all  the  world ! 

From  thine  own  longings  and  lone  tears, 
And  now  thy  broad  sails  are  unfurled, 

And  all  men  hail  thee  with  loud  cheers. 

The  flowing  sunlight  is  thy  home, 
The  billows  of  the  sea  are  thine, 

To  all  the  nations  shalt  thou  roam, 

Through  every  heart  thy  love  shall  shine. 


143 


CAKOLINE  TAPPAN 


The  subtlest  thought  that  finds  its  goal 
Far,  far  beyond  the  horizon's  verge, 

Oh,  shoot  it  forth  on  arrows  bold, 

The  thoughts  of  men,  on,  on,  to  urge. 

Toil  not  to  free  the  slave  from  chains, 
Think  not  to  give  the  laborer  rest ; 

Unless  rich  beauty  fills  the  plains, 
The  free  man  wanders  still  unblest. 

All  men  can  dig,  and  hew  rude  stone, 
But  thou  must  carve  the  frieze  above ; 

And  columned  high,  through  thee  alone, 
Shall  rise  our  frescoed  homes  of  love. 


144 


Dana 

HERZLIEBSTE 

MY  love  for  thee  hath  grown  as  grows  the  flowers, 
Earthly  at  first,  fast  rooted  in  the  earth, 
Yet,  with  the  promise  of  a  better  birth, 
Putting  forth  shoots  of  newly  wakened  powers, 
Tender  green  hopes,  dreams  which  no  God  makes 

ours ; 

And  then  the  stalk,  fitted  life's  frosts  to  bear, 
To  brave  the  wildest  tempest's  wildest  art, 
The  immovable  resolution  of  the  heart 
Ready  and  armed  a  world  of  ills  to  dare  ; 
And  then  the  flower,  fairest  of  things  most  fair, 
The  flower  divine  of  love  imperishable, 
That  seeth  in  thee  the  sum  of  things  that  are, 
That  hath  no  eye  for  aught  mean  or  unstable, 
But  ever  trustful,  ever  prayerful,  feeleth 
The  mysteries  the  Holy  Ghost  revealeth. 

VIA  SACRA 

SLOWLY  along  the  crowded  street  I  go, 
Marking  with  reverent  look  each  passer's  face, 
145 


CHABLES   ANDEESON   DANA 

Seeking  and  not  in  vain,  in  each  to  trace 

That  primal  soul  whereof  he  is  the  show. 

For  here  still  move,  by  many  eyes  unseen, 

The  blessed  gods  that  erst  Olympus  kept. 

Through  every  guise  these  lofty  forms  serene 

Declare  the  all-holding  life  hath  never  slept, 

But  known  each  thrill  that  in  man's  heart  hath 

been, 

And  every  tear  that  his  sad  eyes  have  wept. 
Alas  for  us  !  the  heavenly  visitants,  — 
We  greet  them  still  as  most  unwelcome  guests 
Answering  their  smile  with  hateful  looks  askance, 
Their  sacred  speech  with  foolish,  bitter  jests ; 
But  oh  !  what  is  it  to  imperial  Jove 
That  this  poor  world  refuses  all  his  love  ? 


ETERNITY 

UTTER  no  whisper  of  thy  human  speech, 

But  in  celestial  silence  let  us  tell 

Of  the  great  waves  of  God  that  through  us  swell, 

Revealing  what  no  tongue  could  ever  teach  ; 

Break  not  the  omnipotent  calm,  even  by  a  prayer, 

Filled  with  Infinite,  seek  no  lesser  boon : 


146 


AD   AKMA! 


But  with  these  pines,  and  with  the  all-loving  moon, 
Asking  naught,  yield  thee  to  the  Only  Fair ; 
So  shall  these  moments  so  divine  and  rare, 
These  passing  moments  of  the  soul's  high  noon, 
Be  of  thy  day  the  first  pale  blush  of  morn  ; 
Clad  in  white  raiment  of  God's  newly  born, 
Thyself  shalt  see  when  the  great  world  is  made 
That  flows  forever  from  a  Love  unstayed. 


AD  AKMA! 

OH  loiterer,  that  dalliest  with  thy  dreams, 
Content  to  watch  thyself  in  graceful  ease, 
While  clang  of  steel  burdens  each  passing  breeze, 
And  all  the  air  is  radiant  with  its  gleams ; 
Where  noble  hearts,  as  noble  heart  beseems, 
Answer  the  world's  great  cry  with  earnest  deeds, 
Fulfilling  thus  their  own  most  inward  needs ; 
Is  there  no  Spartan  nerve  in  all  thy  frame 
That  feels  the  summons  to  that  solemn  field ! 
And  canst  thou  then  its  sacred  honors  yield, 
And  the  high  guerdon  of  eternal  fame, 
For  purple  skies  and  wreaths  of  fading  flowers, 
And  the  short  lustre  of  these  flitting  hours  ? 


147 


CHARLES   ANDERSON   DANA 


THE   BANKRUPT 

WITH  what  a  deep  and  ever  deeper  joy 

Upon  that  hope  my  life  I  prided  all, 

Thoughtless  if  woe  which  might  that  life  destroy, 

Or  Heaven's  own  blessedness  should  thence  befall ; 

Like  as  a  venturous  mariner  that  sails, 

To  seek  those  unknown  Islands  of  the  Blest ; 

Heedless  that  he  who  on  that  voyage  fails, 

Desolate  seas  and  tossing  storms  must  breast, 

Till  in  his  agony  he  gladly  hails 

The  yawning  wave  that  gulfs  him  down  to  rest ; 

So  have  I  ventured  thy  dear  love  to  gain, 

And  failing  that  I  fail  of  all  beside. 

To  my  wrecked  heart  all  voices  speak  in  vain, 

Duty  and  Hope,  Friendship,  and  even  Pride, 

As  sad,  alone,  indifferent,  I  wait 

Invoking  the  last  gloomy  stroke  of  Fate. 


148 


(SJeorge  SSailltam  Curtis 
SPRING  SONG 

A  BIRD  sang  sweet  and  strong 
In  the  top  of  the  highest  tree ; 

He  said,  "  I  pour  out  my  heart  in  song 
For  the  summer  that  soon  shall  be !  " 

But  deep  in  the  shady  wood, 
Another  bird  sang,  "  I  pour 

My  heart  on  the  solemn  solitude, 

For  the  springs  that  return  no  more." 


EBB  AND  FLOW 

I  WALKED  beside  the  evening  sea, 
And  dreamed  a  dream  that  could  not  be  ; 
The  waves  that  plunged  along  the  shore 
Said  only  —  "  Dreamer,  dream  no  more." 

But  still  the  legions  charged  the  beach.; 

Loud  rang  their  battle-cry,  like  speech ; 

149 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CUKTIS 

But  changed  was  the  imperial  strain : 

It  murmured  —  "  Dreamer,  dream  again  !  " 

I  homeward  turned  from  out  the  gloom,  — 
That  sound  I  heard  not  in  my  room ; 
But  suddenly  a  sound,  that  stirred 
Within  my  very  breast,  I  heard. 

It  was  my  heart,  that  like  a  sea 

Within  my  breast  beat  ceaselessly  ; 

But  like  the  waves  along  the  shore, 

It  said  —  "  Dream  on !  "  and  "  Dream  no  more ! 


150 


THE   BARBERRY-BUSH 

THE  bush  that  has  most  berries  and  bitter  fruit 
Waits  till  the  frost  has  turned  its  green  leaves  red, 
Its  sweetened  berries  will  thy  palate  suit, 
And  thou  mayst  find  e'en  there  a  homely  bread ; 
Upon  the  hills  of  Salem  scattered  wide, 
Their  yellow  blossoms  gain  the  eye  in  Spring  ; 
And  straggling  e'en  upon  the  turnpike's  side, 
Their  ripened  branches  to  your  hand  they  bring ; 
I  've  plucked  them  oft  in  boyhood's  early  hour, 
That  then  I  gave  such  name,  and  thought  it  true  ; 
But  now  I  know  that  other  fruit  as  sour 
Grows  on  what  now  thou  callest  Me  and  You  ; 
Yet  wilt  thou  wait  the  autumn  that  I  see, 
Will  sweeter  taste  than  these  red  berries  be. 


THE  PRAYER 

WILT  Thou  not  visit  me  ? 
The  plant  beside  me  feels  Thy  gentle  dew ; 
151 


JONES   VERY 


And  every  blade  of  grass  I  see, 
From   Thy  deep  earth   its    quickening    moisture 
drew. 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me? 
Thy  morning  calls  on  me  with  cheering  tone ; 

And  every  hill  and  tree 
Lends  but  one  voice,  the  voice  of  Thee  alone. 

Come,  for  I  need  Thy  love, 
More  than  the  flower  the  dew,  or  grass  the  rain ; 

Come,  gently  as  Thy  holy  dove  ; 
And  let  me  in  Thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 

I  will  not  hide  from  them, 

When  Thy  storms  come,  though   fierce   may  be 
their  wrath ; 

But  bow  with  leafy  stem, 
And  strengthened  follow  on  Thy  chosen  path. 

Yes,  Thou  wilt  visit  me, 
Nor  plant  nor  tree  Thine  eye  delights  so  well, 

As  when  from  sin  set  free 
My  spirit  loves  with  Thine  in  peace  to  dwell. 


152 


THE  SON 


THE  PKESENCE 

I  SIT  within  my  room,  and  joy  to  find 
That  Thou  who  always  lov'st  art  with  me  here, 
That  I  am  never  left  by  Thee  behind, 
But  by  thyself  Thou  keep'st  me  ever  near  ; 
The  fire  burns  brighter  when  with  Thee  I  look, 
And  seems  a  kinder  servant  sent  to  me ; 
With  gladder  heart  I  read  Thy  holy  book, 
Because  Thou  art  the  eyes  by  which  I  see ; 
This  aged  chair,  that  table,  watch  and  door 
Around  in  ready  service  ever  wait ; 
Nor  can  I  ask  of  Thee  a  menial  more 
To  fill  the  measure  of  my  large  estate, 
For  Thou  thyself,  with  all  a  father's  care, 
Where'er  I  turn,  art  ever  with  me  there. 


THE   SON 

FATHER,  I  wait  thy  word.     The  sun  doth  stand 
Beneath  the  mingling  line  of  night  and  day, 
A  listening  servant,  waiting  thy  command 
To  roll  rejoicing  on  its  silent  way  ; 
153 


JONES  VERY 


The  tongue  of  time  abides  the  appointed  hour, 
Till  on  our  ear  its  solemn  warnings  fall ; 
The  heavy  cloud  withholds  the  pelting  shower, 
Then  every  drop  speeds  onward  at  thy  call ; 
The  bird  reposes  on  the  yielding  bough, 
With  breast  unswollen  by  the  tide  of  song ; 
So  does  my  spirit  wait  thy  presence  now 
To  pour  thy  praise  in  quickening  life  along, 
Chiding  with  voice  divine  man's  lengthened  sleep, 
While  round  the  Unuttered  Word  and  Love  their 
vigils  keep. 


THE   SPIRIT   LAND 

FATHER  !    Thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand, 
Nor  far  removed  where  feet  have  seldom  strayed ; 
Around  us  ever  lies  the  enchanted  land 
In  marvels  rich  to  Thine  own  sons  displayed ; 
In  finding  Thee  are  all  things  round  us  found  ; 
In  losing  Thee  are  all  things  lost  beside  ; 
Ears  have  we,  but  in  vain  strange  voices  sound, 
And  to  our  eyes  the  vision  is  denied ; 
We  wander  in  the  country  far  remote, 
'Mid  tombs  and  ruined  piles  in  death  to  dwell ; 
Or  on  the  records  of  past  greatness  dote, 
154 


THE   IDLER 


And  for  a  buried  soul  the  living  sell ; 
While  on  our  path  bewildered  falls  the  night 
That  ne'er  returns  us  to  the  fields  of  light. 

THE  VIOLET 

THOU  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man, 
By  this  thy  lonely  home  and  modest  look  ; 
For  he  has  not  the  eyes  such  truths  to  scan, 
Nor  learns  to  read  from  such  a  lowly  book. 
With  him  it  is  not  life  firm-fixed  to  grow 
Beneath  the  outspreading  oaks  and  rising  pines, 
Content  this  humble  lot  of  thine  to  know, 
The  nearest  neighbor  of  the  creeping  vines  ; 
Without  fixed  root  he  cannot  trust  like  thee 
The  rain  will  know  the  appointed  hour  to  fall, 
But  fears  lest  sun  or  shower  may  hurtful  be, 
And  would  deky,  or  speed  them  with  his  call ; 
Nor  trust  like  thee,  when  wintry  winds  blow  cold, 
Whose   shrinking   form  the  withered   leaves  en- 
fold. 

THE  IDLER 

I  IDLE  stand,  that  I  may  find  employ, 
Such  as  my  Master  when  He  comes  will  give ; 
155 


JONES  VEKY 


I  cannot  find  in  mine  own  work  my  joy, 
But  wait,  although  in  waiting  I  must  live  ; 
My  body  shall  not  turn  which  way  it  will, 
But  stand  till  I  the  appointed  road  can  find, 
And  journeying  so  His  messages  fulfil, 
And  do  at  every  step  the  work  designed. 
Enough  for  me,  still  day  by  day  to  wait 
Till   Thou  who  form'st   me    find'st   me   too  a 

task: 

A  cripple  lying  at  the  rich  man's  gate, 
Content  for  the  few  crumbs  I  get  to  ask  ; 
A  laborer  but  in  heart,  while  bound  my  hands 
Hang  idly  down  still  waiting  Thy  commands. 


THE  LIGHT  FKOM  WITHIN 

I  SAW  on  earth  another  light 
Than  that  which  lit  my  eye 

Come  forth  as  from  my  soul  within, 
And  from  a  higher  sky. 

Its  beams  shone  still  unclouded  on, 
When  in  the  farthest  west 

The  sun  I  once  had  known  had  sunk 
Forever  to  his  rest. 
156 


HEALTH   OF  BODY 


And  on  I  walked,  though  dark  the  night, 

Nor  rose  his  orb  by  day ; 
As  one  who  by  a  surer  guide 

Was  pointed  out  the  way. 

'T  was  brighter  far  than  noonday's  beam ; 

It  shone  from  God  within, 
And  lit,  as  by  a  lamp  from  heaven, 

The  world's  dark  track  of  sin. 


HEALTH  OF  BODY  DEPENDENT  ON 
THE  SOUL 

NOT  from  the  earth,  or  skies, 

Or  seasons  as  they  roll, 
Come  health  and  vigor  to  the  frame, 

But  from  the  living  soul. 

Is  this  alive  to  God, 

And  not  the  slave  to  sin  ? 
Then  will  the  body,  too,  receive 

Health  from  the  soul  within. 

But  if  disease  has  touched 
The  spirit's  inmost  part, 
157 


JONES   VEEY 


In  vain  we  seek  from  outward  things 
To  heal  the  deadly  smart. 

The  mind,  the  heart  unchanged, 
Which  clouded  e'en  our  home, 

Will  make  the  outward  world  the  same 
Where'er  our  feet  may  roam. 

The  fairest  scenes  on  earth, 

The  mildest,  purest  sky, 
Will  bring  no  vigor  to  the  step, 

No  lustre  to  the  eye. 

For  He  who  formed  our  frame 

Made  man  a  perfect  whole, 
And  made  the  body's  health  depend 

Upon  the  living  soul. 

THE   SILENT 

THEKE  is  a  sighing  in  the  wood, 
A  murmur  in  the  beating  wave, 

The  heart  has  never  understood 

To  tell  in  words  the  thoughts  they  gave 

Yet  oft  it  feels  an  answering  tone, 
When  wandering  on  the  lonely  shore 
158 


NATURE 


And  could  the  lips  its  voice  make  known, 
'T  would  sound  as  does  the  ocean's  roar. 

And  oft  beneath  the  windswept  pine 

Some  chord  is  struck  the  strain  to  swell ; 

Nor  sounds  nor  language  can  define,  — 
'T  is  not  for  words  or  sounds  to  tell. 

'T  is  all  unheard,  that  Silent  Voice, 
Whose  goings  forth,  unknown  to  all, 

Bids  bending  reed  and  bird  rejoice, 
And  fills  with  music  Nature's  hall. 

And  in  the  speechless  human  heart 

It  speaks,  where'er  man's  feet  have  trod ; 

Beyond  the  lips'  deceitful  art, 
To  tell  of  Him,  the  Unseen  God. 


NATURE 

THE  bubbling  brook  doth  leap  when  I  come  by, 
Because  my  feet  find  measure  with  its  call ; 
The  birds  know  when  the  friend  they  love  is  nigh, 
For  I  am  known  to  them,  both  great  and  small ; 
The  flowers  that  on  the  lovely  hillside  grow 


JONES  VEKY 


Expect  me   there  when   Spring  their  bloom  has 

given; 

And  many  a  tree  and  bush  my  wanderings  know, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  and  silent  stars  of  heaven ; 
For  he  who  with  his  Maker  walks  aright, 
Shall  be  their  lord,  as  Adam  was  before  ; 
His  ear  shall  catch  each  sound  with  new  delight, 
Each  object  wear  the  dress  which  then  it  wore ; 
And  he,  as  when  erect  in  soul  he  stood, 
Hear  from  his  Father's  lips  that  all  is  good. 


160 


THE  fflGHER  GOOD 

FATHER,  I  will  not  ask  for  wealth  or  fame, 
Though  once  they  would  have  joyed  my  carnal  sense  : 
I  shudder  not  to  bear  a  hated  name, 
Wanting  all  wealth,  myself  my  sole  defence. 
But  give  me,  Lord,  eyes  to  behold  the  truth  ; 
A  seeing  sense  that  knows  the  eternal  right  ; 
A  heart  with  pity  filled,  and  gentlest  ruth  ; 
A  manly  faith  that  makes  all  darkness  light  : 
Give  me  the  power  to  labor  for  mankind  ; 
Make  me  the  mouth  of  such  as  cannot  speak  ; 
Eyes  let  me  be  to  groping  men  and  blind  ; 
A  conscience  to  the  base  ;  and  to  the  weak 
Let  ml  be  hands  and  feet  ;  and  to  the  foolish, 

mind; 
And  lead  still  further  on  such  as  thy  kingdom  seek. 


THE   WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  THE  LIFE 

O  THOU  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men, 

Who  once  appear'dst  in  humblest  guise  below, 

161 


THEODOEE  PARKER 


Sin  to  rebuke,  to  break  the  captive's  chain, 
To  call  thy  brethren  forth  from  want  and  woe !  — 
Thee  would  I  sing.     Thy  truth  is  still  the  light 
Which  guides  the  nations  groping  on  their  way, 
Stumbling  and  falling  in  disastrous  night, 
Yet  hoping  ever  for  the  perfect  day. 
Yes,  thou  art  still  the  life  ;  thou  art  the  way 
The  holiest  know,  —  light,  life,  and  way  of  heaven ; 
And  they  who  dearest  hope  and  deepest  pray 
Toil  by  the  truth,  life,  way  that  thou  hast  given ; 
And  in  thy  name  aspiring  mortals  trust 
To  uplift  their  bleeding  brothers  rescued  from  the 
dust. 


162 


Samuel  Crag 

THE  CONSOLERS 

* 

CONSOLERS  of  the  solitary  hours 
When  I,  a  pilgrim,  on  a  lonely  shore 
Sought  help,  and  found  none,  save  in  those  high 

powers 

That  then  I  prayed  might  never  leave  me  more ! 
There  was  the  blue,  eternal  sky  above, 
There  was  the  ocean  silent  at  my  feet, 
There  was  the  universe  —  but  nought  to  love  ; 
The  universe  did  its  old  tale  repeat. 
Then  came  ye  to  me,  with  your  healing  wings, 
And  said,  "  Thus  bare  and  branchless  must  thou  be, 
Ere  thou  couldst  feel  the  wind  from  heaven  that 

springs." 

And  now  again  fresh  leaves  do  bud  for  me,  — 
Yet  let  me  feel  that  still  the  spirit  sings 
In  quiet  song,  coming  from  heaven  free. 

THE   SHIELD 

THE  old  man  said,  "  Take  thou  this  shield,  my  son, 
Long  tried  in  battle,  and  long  tried  by  age, 
163 


SAMUEL   GRAY  WABD 

Guarded  by  this  thy  fathers  did  engage, 
Trusting  to  this  the  victory  they  have  won." 

Forth  from  the  tower  Hope  and  Desire  had  built, 
In  youth's  bright  morn  I  gazed  upon  the  plain,  — 
There    struggled    countless   hosts,   while   many   a 

stain 
Marked  where  the  blood  of  brave  men  had  been 

spilt. 

With  spirit  strong  I  buckled  to  the  fight, 
What  sudden  chill  rushes  through  every  vein  ? 
Those  fatal  arms  oppress  me  —  all  in  vain 
My  fainting  limbs  seek  their  accustomed  might. 

Forged  were  those  arms  for  men  of  other  mould  ; 
Our  hands  they  fetter,  cramp  our  spirits  free : 
I  throw  them  on  the  ground,  and  suddenly 
Comes    back   my   strength  —  returns   my   spirit 
bold. 

I  stand  alone,  unarmed,  yet  not  alone ; 
Who  heeds  no  law  but  that  within  he  finds, 
Trusts  his  own  vision,  not  to  other  minds, 
He    fights   with    thee  —  Father,    aid    thou    thy 
son. 

164 


Daliiti 

IDEALS 


ANGELS  of  growth,  of  old  in  that  surprise 
Of  your  first  vision,  wild  and  sweet, 

I  poured  in  passionate  sighs 

My  wish  unwise 
That  ye  descend  my  heart  to  meet,  — 

My  heart  so  slow  to  rise  ! 

Now  thus  I  pray  :  Angelic  be  to  hold 
In  heaven  your  shining  poise  afar, 

And  to  my  wishes  bold 

Reply  with  cold 
Sweet  invitation,  like  a  star 

Fixed  in  the  heavens  old. 

Did  ye  descend,  what  were  ye  more  than  I  ? 
Is  't  not  by  this  ye  are  divine,  — 

That,  native  to  the  sky, 

Ye  cannot  hie 
Downward,  and  give  low  hearts  the  wine 

That  should  reward  the  high? 
165 


DAVID  ATWOOD  WASSON 

Weak,  yet  in  weakness  I  no  more  complain 
Of  your  abiding  in  your  places ; 
Oh,  still,  howe'er  my  pain 
Wild  prayers  may  rain, 
Keep  pure  on  high  the  perfect  graces, 
That,  stooping,  could  but  stain  ! 

Not  to  content  our  lowness,  but  to  lure 
And  lift  us  to  your  angelhood, 
Do  your  surprises  pure 

Dawn  far  and  sure 
Above  the  tumult  of  young  blood, 
And  starlike  there  endure. 

Wait  there,  —  wait,  and  invite  me  while  I  climb ; 
For  see,  I  come  !  —  but  slow,  but  slow  ! 

Yet  ever  as  your  chime, 

Soft  and  sublime, 

Lifts  at  my  feet,  they  move,  they  go 
Up  the  great  stair  of  time. 


SEEN  AND  UNSEEN 

THE  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high, 
A  whited  wave,  but  sable  sky, 
166 


SEEN  AND  UNSEEN 


And  many  a  league  of  tossing  sea 
Between  the  hearts  I  love  and  me. 

The  wind  ahead !  day  after  day 

These  weary  words  the  sailors  say ; 

To  weeks  the  days  are  lengthening  now,  — 

Still  mounts  the  surge  to  meet  our  prow. 

Through  longing  day  and  lingering  night, 
I  still  accuse  Time's  lagging  flight, 
Or  gaze  out  o'er  the  envious  sea, 
That  keeps  the  hearts  I  love  from  me. 

Yet,  ah !  how  shallow  is  my  grief ! 
How  instant  is  the  deep  relief ! 
And  what  a  hypocrite  am  I, 
To  feign  forlorn,  to  'plain  and  sigh ! 

The  wind  ahead !     The  wind  is  free ! 
For  evermore  it  favoreth  me,  — 
To  shores  of  God  still  blowing  fair, 
O'er  seas  of  God  my  bark  doth  bear. 

This  surging  brine  /  do  not  sail ; 
This  blast  adverse  is  not  my  gale ; 
'T  is  here  I  only  seem  to  be, 
But  really  sail  another  sea,  — 
167 


DAVID  ATWOQD   WASSON 

Another  sea,  pure  sky  its  waves, 
Whose  beauty  hides  no  heaving  graves ; 
A  sea  all  haven,  whereupon 
No  helpless  bark  to  wreck  has  gone. 

The  winds  that  o'er  my  ocean  run 
Reach  through  all  worlds  beyond  the  sun ; 
Through  life  and  death,  through  fate,  through  time, 
Grand  breaths  of  God  they  sweep  sublime. 

Eternal  trades,  they  cannot  veer, 
And,  blowing,  teach  us  how  to  steer ; 
And  well  for  him  whose  joy,  whose  care, 
Is  but  to  keep  before  them  fair. 

O  thou  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine ! 
Spread  canvas  to  the  airs  divine! 
Spread  sail !  and  let  thy  Fortune  be 
Forgotten  in  thy  Destiny. 

For  Destiny  pursues  us  well, 

By  sea,  by  land,  through  heaven  or  hell ; 

It  suffers  Death  alone  to  die, 

Bids  Life  all  change  and  chance  defy. 

Would  earth's  dark  ocean  suck  thee  down  ? 
Earth's  ocean  thou,  O  Life !  shalt  drown ; 
168 


ALL  'S   WELL 


Shalt  flood  it  with  thy  finer  wave, 
And,  sepulchred,  entomb  thy  grave ! 

Life  loveth  life  and  good,  then  trust 
What  most  the  spirit  would,  it  must ; 
Deep  wishes  in  the  heart  that  be, 
Are  blossoms  of  Necessity. 

A  thread  of  Law  runs  through  thy  prayer, 
Stronger  than  iron  cables  are  ; 
And  Love  and  Longing  toward  their  goal 
Are  pilots  sweet  to  guide  the  soul. 

So  Life  must  live,  and  Soul  must  sail, 
And  Unseen  over  Seen  prevail ; 
And  all  God's  argosies  come  to  shore, 
Let  ocean  smile,  or  rage  or  roar. 

And  so,  'mid  storm  or  calm,  my  bark 
With  snowy  wake  still  nears  her  mark ; 
Cheerly  the  trades  of  being  blow, 
And  sweeping  down  the  wind  I  go. 

ALL'S  WELL 

SWEET-VOICED  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse 

Foretold  not  half  life's  good  to  me ; 

169 


DAVID  ATWOOD  WASSON 

Thy  painter,  Fancy,  hath  not  force 
To  show  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  ! 

Thy  witching  dream 

And  pictured  scheme 
To  match  the  fact  still  want  the  power  ; 

Thy  promise  brave 

From  birth  to  grave 
Life's  bloom  may  beggar  in  an  hour. 

Ask  and  receive,  —  't  is  sweetly  said ; 
Yet  what  to  plead  for  know  I  not ; 
For  Wish  is  worsted,  Hope  o'ersped, 
And  aye  to  thanks  returns  my  thought. 

If  I  would  pray, 

I  've  naught  to  say 
But  this,  that  God  may  be  God  still, 

For  Him  to  live 

Is  still  to  give, 
And  sweeter  than  my  wish  His  will. 

O  wealth  of  life  beyond  all  bound ! 

Eternity  each  moment  given ! 
What  plummet  may  the  Present  sound  ? 
Who  promises  a  future  heaven  ? 
Or  glad,  or  grieved, 
Oppressed,  relieved, 
170 


ALL  'S   WELL 


In  bkckest  night,  or  brightest  day, 

Still  pours  the  flood 

Of  golden  good, 
And  more  than  heart-full  fills  me  aye. 

My  wealth  is  common  ;  I  possess 

No  petty  province,  but  the  whole; 
What 's  mine  alone  is  mine  far  less 
Than  treasure  shared  by  every  soul. 

Talk  not  of  store 

Millions  or  more,  — 
Of  values  which  the  purse  may  hold,  — 

But  this  divine ! 

I  own  the  mine 
Whose  grains  outweigh  a  planet's  gold. 

I  have  a  stake  in  every  star, 

In  every  beam  that  fills  the  day; 
All  hearts  of  men  my  coffers  are, 
My  ores  arterial  tides  convey ; 
The  fields,  the  skies, 
The  sweet  replies 

Of  thought  to  thought  are  my  gold-dust,  - 
The  oaks,  the  brooks, 
And  speaking  looks 
Of  lovers'  faith  and  friendship's  trust. 
171 


DAVID  ATWOQD   WASSON 

Life's  youngest  tides  joy-brimming  flow 

For  him  who  lives  above  all  years, 
Who  all-immortal  makes  the  Now, 
And  is  not  ta'en  in  Time's  arrears ; 

His  life  's  a  hymn 

The  seraphim 
Might  hark  to  hear  or  help  to  sing, 

And  to  his  soul 

The  boundless  whole 
Its  bounty  all  doth  daily  bring. 

"  All  time  is  mine,"  the  sky-soul  saith  ; 

"  The  wealth  I  am,  must  thou  become ; 
Richer  and  richer,  breath  by  breath, — 
Immortal  gain,  immortal  room  !  " 

And  since  all  his 

Mine  also  is, 
Life's  gift  outruns  my  fancies  far, 

And  drowns  the  dream 

In  larger  stream, 
As  morning  drinks  the  morning-star. 

LOVE  AGAINST  LOVE 

As  unto  blowing  roses  summer  dews, 
Or  morning's  amber  to  the  tree-top  choirs, 
172 


ROYALTY 


So  to  iny  bosom  are  the  beams  that  use 

To  rain  on  me  from  eyes  that  love  inspires. 

Your  love,  —  vouchsafe  it,  royal-hearted  few, 

And  I  will  set  no  common  price  thereon, 

O,  I  will  keep,  as  heaven  his  holy  blue, 

Or  night  her  diamonds,  that  dear  treasure  won. 

But  aught  of  inward  faith  must  I  forego, 

Or  miss  one  drop  from  truth's  baptismal  hand, 

Think  poorer  thoughts,  pray  cheaper  prayers,  and 

grow 

Less  worthy  trust,  to  meet  your  heart's  demand,  — 
Farewell !    Your  wish  I  for  your  sake  deny : 
Rebel  to  love,  in  truth  to  love,  am  I. 


ROYALTY 

THAT  regal  soul  I  reverence,  in  whose  eyes 

Sufficeth  not  all  worth  the  city  knows 

To  pay  that  debt  which  his  own  heart  he  owes  ; 

For  less  than  level  to  his  bosom  rise 

The  low  crowd's  heaven  and  stars :    above  their 


Runneth  the  road  his  daily  feet  have  pressed  ; 
A  loftier  heaven  he  beareth  in  his  breast, 
And  o'er  the  summits  of  achieving  hies 
173 


DAVID   ATWOOD   WASSON 

With  ne'er  a  thought  of  merit  or  of  meed; 
Choosing  divinest  labors  through  a  pride 
Of  soul,  that  holdeth  appetite  to  feed 
Ever  on  angel-herbage,  nought  beside ; 
Nor  praises  more  himself  for  hero-deed 
Than  stones  for  weight,  or  open  seas  for  tide. 


174 


TWO  MOODS 


"  THE  Truth  shall  bind,"  quoth  he ; 
"  No  fetter  else.     Oh !  free 
My  mind  shall  rove,  and  bring 
Me  home  on  buoyant  wing 
The  boldest  thought  that  flies : 
Blest  freedom  else  unknown. 
All  shorn  the  soul  denies 
All  beauty  thus  to  own." 

n. 

Then  spoke  a  voice  in  gentler  strain, 
Yet  chanting  still  the  high  refrain  : 
"  Nor  rove  will  I  to  clip  the  wing 
Of  thoughts  that  fly  and  gaily  sing. 
Home,  home  I  hie,  all  free  to  list 
The  silent  song  I  ne'er  resist." 


175 


SYDNEY  HENRY  MORSE 


OPEN   SECRET 

NOT  through  Nature  shineth 
Godhead  fair  and  free  ; 

'T  is  the  Heart  divineth 
What  the  God  must  be. 

Nature  all  concealing, 
Dim  her  outer  light, 

Finite  forms  revealing, 
Not  the  infinite. 

All  the  Godhead's  planning 
Not  with  striving  learn  — 

Inner  eye  —  Heart  scanning 
Sees  the  God-bush  burn. 


SUNDERED 

I  CHALLENGE  not  the  oracle 
That  drove  you  from  my  board 

I  bow  before  the  dark  decree 
That  scatters  as  I  hoard. 
176 


SUNDERED 


Ye  vanished  like  the  sailing  ships 

That  ride  far  out  at  sea: 
I  murmur,  as  your  farewell  dies, 

And  your  forms  float  from  me. 

Ah !  ties  are  sundered  in  this  hour, 

No  tide  of  fortune  rare 
Shall  bring  me  hearts  I  owned  before, 

And  my  love's  loss  repair. 

When  voyagers  make  a  foreign  port, 
And  leave  their  precious  prize, 

Returning  home,  they  bear  for  freight 
A  bartered  merchandise.  . 

Alas  !  when  ye  come  back  to  me, 

And  come  not  as  of  yore, 
But  with  your  alien  wealth  and  peace, 

Can  we  be  lovers  more  ? 

I  gave  you  up  to  go  your  ways, 

O  you  whom  I  adored ! 
Love  hath  no  ties  but  Destiny 

Shall  cut  them  with  a  sword. 


177 


SYDNEY  HENKY  MORSE 


TILL  LOVE  BE   WHOLE 

THE  soul  I  dwell  within 
Forgets  my  load  of  sin, 
And  circles  me 
With  amorous  glee, 
To  win  my  first  faint  smile 
Of  love  that  bodes  no  guile  ;  — 
Unfolds  my  heart  the  while, 
And  sets  me  free. 

Delights  she  to  surprise 

Me  with  some  thought  that  hies 

To  heaven  straightway : 

Then  all  the  day 
I  wander  o'er  the  earth, 
And  find  not  half  its  worth  ; 
Yet  lose  I  not  my  mirth, 

And  pray,  and  pray. 

Oh  !  I  am  precious  seed 
Thus  planted  for  her  meed : 

My  offish  ways 

And  long  delays 
178 


THE   WAY 


She  takes  no  notice  of, 
But  steadily  doth  move 
Upon  my  heart  with  love, 
Nor  doubt  displays. 

Now  I  shall  make  return, 
And  my  love's  taper  burn 
For  my  good  soul, 
As  towards  the  goal 
My  steps  I  hourly  bend ; 
And  to  the  flame  yet  lend 
Increase,  far  to  the  end, 
TiUlove.be  whole? 


THE  WAY 

THEY  find  the  way  who  linger  where 
The  soul  finds  fullest  life  ; 
The  battle  brave  is  carried  on 
By  all  who  wait,  and  waiting,  dare 
Deem  each  day's  least  that 's  fitly  done 
A  victory  worthy  to  be  won, 
Nor  seek  their  gain  with  strife. 


179 


SYDNEY   HENRY  MORSE 


WAIFS 

GIRD  thee,  gird  thee,  soldier  strong ! 
Gird  thee  with  the  hate  of  wrong,  — 
Gird  thee  with  a  love  that  smites 
Down  the  hate  of  him  who  fights ! 
Victory  be  his  as  thine, 
Soldier  strong,  whose  face  doth  shine ! 

Erring  world,  sweet  Charity 
Veileth  all  thy  sins  that  be  : 
She  forgives  e'en  darkest  crime, 
She,  with  vision  reaching  far, 
Sees  the  land  whose  glories  are 
Fair  fulfilments  of  all  time. 

God  wists  not  to  hear  thee  pray, 
When  thou  'st  somewhat  wise  to  say  ; 
Finite  wisdom  blocks  the  way. 
Better  far  thou  speak'st  no  word  — 
Only  let  thy  heart  be  heard. 

SERVICE 

FRET  not  that  the  day  is  gone, 
And  thy  task  is  still  undone. 
180 


SERVICE 


'T  was  not  thine,  it  seems,  at  all : 
Near  to  thee  it  chanced  to  fall, 
Close  enough  to  stir  thy  brain, 
And  to  vex  thy  heart  in  vain. 
Somewhere,  in  a  nook  forlorn, 
Yesterday  a  babe  was  born : 
He  shall  do  thy  waiting  task  ; 
All  thy  questions  he  shall  ask, 
And  the  answers  will  be  given, 
Whispered  clearly  out  of  heaven. 
His  shall  be  no  stumbling  feet, 
Failing  where  they  should  be  fleet ; 
He  shall  hold  no  broken  clue  ; 
Friends  shall  unto  him  be  true  ; 
Men  shall  love  him ;  falsehood's  aim 
Shall  not  shatter  his  good  name. 
Day  shall  nerve  his  arm  with  light, 
Slumber  soothe  him  all  the  night ; 
Summer's  peace  and  winter's  storm 
Help  him  all  his  will  perform. 
'T  is  enough  of  joy  for  thee 
His  high  service  to  foresee. 


181 


SYDNEY  HENRY  MOESE 


THE   VICTORY 

To  do  the  tasks  of  life,  and  be  not  lost ; 

To  mingle,  yet  dwell  apart ; 
To  be  by  roughest  seas  how  rudely  tossed, 

Yet  bate  no  jot  of  heart ; 

To  hold  thy  course  among  the  heavenly  stars, 

Yet  dwell  upon  the  earth  ; 
To  stand  behind  Fate's  firm-laid  prison  bars, 

Yet  win  all  Freedom's  worth  ! 


182 


Siofjn 

BLEST  SPIKIT  OF  MY  LIFE 

BLEST  spirit  of  my  life,  oh,  stay ! 

Let  not  this  rapture  vanish  soon  ; 
For  thus  my  earth  is  snatched  away, 

And  lifted  into  heaven's  noon. 

How  clear  the  vision  !  how  serene 

The  air  through  which  my  words  aspire ! 

My  narrow  clay  they  leave  to  glean 
In  fields  of  infinite  desire. 

Oh,  greatest  grief  of  many  days, 
It  is  that  thou,  my  heaven,  art 

So  far,  so  faintly  come  the  rays 
That  kindle  heaven  in  my  heart. 

To-day  a  prisoner  on  leave 

Am  I :  must  I  to  bounds  return  ? 

Then  make  me  blest  that  I  can  grieve, 
And  satisfied  that  I  can  yearn. 
183 


JOHN  WEISS 


Thou  Light,  that  makest  lesser  lights 
To  shine,  burn  up  my  cloudy  sky  ! 

To  morning  change  my  frequent  nights  ; 
Drop  planets  to  me  from  on  high. 

My  hope  is  wide  to  take  them  in, 
Deeper  than  sight  do  I  adore  ! 

I  am  a  little  sail  to  win 

In  thy  great  breath  my  native  shore. 

SAADI'S   THINKING 

SUCH  a  noon  as  Thought  has  made  I 
In  my  soul  no  spot  of  shade  ; 
Least  and  greatest  lying  plain, 
Hope  of  mystery  was  vain. 

Like  a  savage  creature's  scent 
To  its  game  my  daylight  went ; 
Water  hid  beneath  the  sod 
Sooner  'scapes  divining  rod. 

All  day  staring  like  a  noon 
Sight  must  hie  to  shelter  soon  ; 
From  the  drooping  lid  must  creep 
Forth  the  outer  edge  of  sleep. 
184 


SAADI'S  THINKING 


As  I  lose  my  perfect  gaze, 
And  the  headlands  gather  haze, 
Blushes  through  the  clearness  creep, 
Showing  it  is  also  deep. 

And  my  thought  returns  to  me, 
Like  the  diver  from  a  sea, 
Purpled  with  the  shells  he  had,  — 
Tired  and  faint,  but  purple-clad. 

Falls  to  dreaming  all  the  sky, 
Stirred  by  thoughts  less  palpably,  — 
Noontide  broken  into  stars, 
Vision  checked  by  twilight  bars. 

Would  you  mystery  receive, 
And  in  miracle  believe, 
Wading  out  until  some  sea 
Lifts  the  heart  and  sets  it  free,  — 

Then  let  Thought  be  shod  with  air, 
Put  on  daylight  for  its  wear  — 
Colorless  and  limpid  laws  : 
In  them  stars  and  twilights  pause. 


185 


JOHN  WEISS 


MY  TWO   QUESTS 


OH,  many  trees  watch  East, 

And  many  trees  ensnare  the  West,  — 

Those  to  drip  with  dawning  golden, 

These  to  keep  the  sunsets  holden  ; 

Yet  of  all  I  love  them  least 

That  fail  to  nod  above  my  quest. 

Oh,  many  hills  watch  North, 

And  many  in  the  South  are  faint,  — 

These  to  hold  aloft  the  clearness, 

These  to  bear  away  the  nearness ; 

Yet  to  all  I  wander  loth, 

To  all  save  those  my  longings  paint. 

Oh,  many  flowers  make  sweet, 
In  many  autumn  fields,  the  grass. 
Some  to  old  resorts  cajole  me, 
New  surprises  some  would  dole  me ; 
None  of  them  can  draw  my  feet, 
Save  those  which  smile  to  see  her  pass. 
186 


MY  TWO  QUESTS 


Oh,  many  paths  invite 

To  beauties  of  the  sky  and  land. 

East  and  West  the  earth  is  tender, 

North  and  South  bend  bows  of  splendor ; 

All  the  paths  to  me  are  trite, 

Save  one  that  leads  me  to  her  hand. 

Oh,  many  days  are  born, 

Both  sweet  and  grave  within  them  stir ; 

Perfect  climes  that  have  for  ages 

Been  to  kings  and  queens  the  pages ; 

But  for  all  I  have  a  scorn, 

Save  those  which  leap  at  sight  of  her. 

Oh,  many  landscapes  wait, 

Tongue-tied,  till  thoughts  release  their  word ; 

Thoughts  like  champions  that  travel, 

Captives  loose  and  charms  unravel : 

Best  endowed  of  all  but  prate 

Unless  her  mood  has  one  preferred. 

H. 

Days  I  've  waited  for  my  friend ; 

Near  yet  absent  waited  He : 
Time  and  chance  did  not  attend, 

Nor  a  look  to  set  me  free. 
187 


JOHN  WEISS 


Not  a  meeting  of  the  eyes, 

Nor  a  touch  of  hands  that  groped 

Through  each  hour's  dull  enterprise 
Toward  the  thrill  for  which  we  hoped. 

Wainscoted  with  care  the  walls 
Are  past  which  I  feel  my  way. 

Dark  of  absence  deeper  falls ; 
Still  I  fumble,  still  I  stay. 

At  a  sudden  turn,  when  least 

We  surmised  our  hearts  were  near, 

All  the  doubt,  the  strangeness,  ceased ; 
In  a  moment,  dazzling  clear. 

Solid  walls  were  built  of  mist, 

And  our  rapture  burnt  them  down  ; 

And  the  flash  by  which  we  kissed 
Seemed  a  sun  for  all  the  town, 

Seemed  to  kindle  every  hearth, 
To  consume  each  doubt  and  care, 

Blaze  along  the  common  path, 
No  reserve  or  dread  to  spare. 

Thoughts  that  struggled  from  the  slime, 
Nile-bred  forms  to  gain  their  feet, 
188 


MY  TWO   QUESTS 


Suited  with  their  perfect  rhyme, 
Trooping  came  along  the  street ; 

And  I  breathed  them  from  the  air ; 

Saw  them,  armored  by  sunbeams, 
Point  their  shafts  against  my  care, 

Heard  them  shattering  my  dreams. 

All  the  house  their  carol  shook, 
To  my  soul  their  joy  gave  wing, 

Gave  my  sight  an  upward  look, 
Opened  it  like  flowers  in  spring ; 

Into  perfume  seemed  to  burst, 
And  to  offer  up  my  heart, 

Changing  into  best  my  worst, 
Into  comfort  every  smart. 

Lightly  then  my  straining  mind 
Threw  its  ladder  to  the  sky, 

Upward  ran  the  morn  to  find, 
See  its  surf  run  freshening  by. 

Gladness  was  the  friend  I  found, 
Sense  of  something  clear  and  still ; 

As  the  earth  in  light  is  drowned, 
And  in  space  the  highest  hill. 
189 


JOHN  WEISS 


All  my  prose  to  song  sublimed, 
All  my  waiting  to  this  smile, 

Hung,  without  a  flutter,  rhymed 
In  the  heaven's  perfect  style. 

Did  my  life  indeed  ascend, 

Or  some  life  sink  down  to  me  ? 

All  I  know,  it  was  my  Friend : 
Name  it  ?  shape  it?     Let  that  be. 


METHOD 

CENTRAL  axis,  pole  of  pole, 
Central  ark  and  goal  of  goal, 
Worship,  to  whose  sovereign  end 
All  the  spirit's  uses  tend. 
Taught  of  her  high  mystery, 
Perfect  will  the  man-child  be. 
Not  with  sorrow,  not  with  moan 
Comes  the  soul  unto  her  own  ; 
Not  with  sounding  steps  of  thunder, 
Not  with  flaming  looks  of  fire, 
But  with  calm  delight  and  wonder, 
Simple  hope  and  sweet  desire. 
Then,  through  all  the  motions  stealing 
190 


METHOD 


Of  the  manifold  existence, 
Ever  lifting,  soothing,  healing, 
Love  attunes  each  thought  and  feeling 
Unto  patience  and  persistence. 


191 


f^igginson 

THE   THINGS   I   MISS 

AN  easy  thing,  O  Power  Divine, 

To  thank  Thee  for  these  gifts  of  Thine  ! 

For  summer's  sunshine,  winter's  snow, 

For  hearts  that  kindle,  thoughts  that  glow. 

But  when  shall  I  attain  to  this,  — 

To  thank  Thee  for  the  things  I  miss  ? 

For  all  young  Fancy's  early  gleams, 
The  dreamed-of  joys  that  still  are  dreams, 
Hopes  unfulfilled,  and  pleasures  known 
Through  others'  fortunes,  not  my  own, 
And  blessings  seen  that  are  not  given, 
And  never  will  be,  this  side  heaven. 

Had  I  too  shared  the  joys  I  see, 
Would  there  have  been  a  heaven  for  me  ? 
Could  I  have  felt  Thy  presence  near, 
Had  I  possessed  what  I  held  dear  ? 
My  deepest  fortune,  highest  bliss, 
Have  grown  perchance  from  things  I  miss. 
192 


HEIRS  OF  TIME 


Sometimes  there  comes  an  hour  of  calm  ; 
Grief  turns  to  blessing,  pain  to  balm ; 
A  Power  that  works  above  my  will 
Still  leads  me  onward,  upward  still. 
And  then  my  heart  attains  to  this,  — 
To  thank  Thee  for  the  things  I  miss. 

HEIRS   OF  TIME 

FROM  street  and  square,  from  hill  and  glen 
Of  this  vast  world  beyond  my  door, 
I  hear  the  tread  of  marching  men, 
The  patient  armies  of  the  poor. 

The  halo  of  the  city's  lamps 
Hangs,  a  vast  torchlight,  in  the  air ; 
I  watch  it  through  the  evening  damps : 
The  masters  of  the  world  are  there. 

Not  ermine-clad  or  clothed  in  state, 
Their  title-deeds  not  yet  made  plain  ; 
But  waking  early,  toiling  late, 
The  heirs  of  all  the  earth  remain. 

Some  day,  by  laws  as  fixed  and  fair 
As  guide  the  planets  in  their  sweep, 
193 


THOMAS  WENTWOKTH  HIGGINSON 

The  children  of  each  outcast  heir 
The  harvest-fruits  of  time  shall  reap. 

The  peasant  brain  shall  yet  be  wise, 
The  untamed  pulse  grow  calm  and  still ; 
The  blind  shall  see,  the  lowly  rise, 
And  work  in  peace  Time's  wondrous  will. 

Some  day,  without  a  trumpet's  call, 
This  news  will  o'er  the  world  be  blown : 
"  The  heritage  comes  back  to  all ! 
The  myriad  monarchs  take  their  own  !  " 

A  JAK   OF  ROSE-LEAVES 

MYRIAD  roses  fade  unheeded, 
Yet  no  note  of  grief  is  needed  ; 
When  the  ruder  breezes  tear  them, 
Sung  or  songless,  we  can  spare  them. 
But  the  choicest  petals  are 
Shrined  in  some  deep  Orient  jar, 
Rich  without  and  sweet  within, 
Where  we  cast  the  rose-leaves  in. 

Life  has  jars  of  costlier  price 
Framed  to  hold  our  memories. 
194 


A  JAB  OF  ROSE-LEAVES 

There  we  treasure  baby  smiles, 
Boyish  exploits,  girlish  wiles, 
All  that  made  our  early  days 
Sweeter  than  these  trodden  ways 
Where  the  Fates  our  fortunes  spin  : 
Memory,  toss  the. rose-leaves  in  ! 

What  the  jar  holds,  that  shall  stay ; 
Time  steals  all  the  rest  away. 
Cast  in  love's  first  stolen  word, 
Bliss  when  uttered,  bliss  when  heard ; 
Maiden's  looks  of  shy  surprise  ; 
Glances  from  a  hero's  eyes  ; 
Palms  we  risked  our  souls  to  win  : 
Memory,  fling  the  rose-leaves  in  ! 

Now  more  sombre  and  more  slow 
Let  the  incantation  grow ! 
Cast  in  shreds  of  rapture  brief, 
Subtle  links  'twixt  hope  and  grief ; 
Vagrant  fancy's  dangerous  toys  ; 
Covert  dreams,  narcotic  joys 
Flavored  with  the  taste  of  sin  : 
Memory,  pour  the  rose-leaves  in  ! 

Quit  that  borderland  of  pain ! 
Cast  in  thoughts  of  nobler  vein, 
195 


THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON 

Magic  gifts  of  human  breath, 

Mysteries  of  birth  and  death. 

What  if  all  this  web  of  change 

But  prepare  for  scenes  more  strange  ; 

If  to  die  be  to  begin  ? 

Memory,  heap  the  rose-leaves  in  ! 


ODE   TO   A   BUTTERFLY 

THOU  spark  of  life  that  wavest  wings  of  gold, 
Thou  songless  wanderer  'mid  the  songful  birds, 
With  Nature's  secrets  in  thy  tints  unrolled 
Through  gorgeous  cipher,  past  the  reach  of  words, 

Yet  dear  to  every  child 

In  glad  pursuit  beguiled, 

Living  his  unspoiled  days  'mid  flowers  and  flocks 
and  herds  ! 

Thou  winged  blossom,  liberated  thing, 
What  secret  tie  binds  thee  to  other  flowers, 
Still  held  within  the  garden's  fostering  ? 
Will  they  too  soar  with  the  completed  hours, 

Take  flight,  and  be  like  thee 

Irrevocably  free, 

Hovering  at  will  o'er  their  parental  bowers  ? 
196 


ODE   TO  A  BUTTERFLY 

Or  is  thy  lustre  drawn  from  heavenly  hues,  — 
A  sumptuous  drifting  fragment  of  the  sky, 
Caught  when  the  sunset  its  last  glance  imbues 
With  sudden  splendor,  and  the  treetops  high 

Grasp  that  swift  blazonry, 

Then  lend  those  tints  to  thee, 
On  thee  to  float  a  few  short  hours,  and  die  ? 


Birds   have   their   nests ;    they   rear   their   eager 

young, 

And  flit  on  errands  all  the  livelong  day ; 
Each  fleldmouse  keeps  the  homestead  whence  it 

sprung ; 

But  thou  art  Nature's  freeman,  —  free  to  stray 
Unfettered  through  the  wood, 
Sucking  thine  airy  food, 
The  sweetness  spiced  on  every  blossomed  spray. 

The  garden  one  wide  banquet  spreads  for  thee, 

O  daintiest  reveller  of  the  joyous  earth ! 

One  drop  of  honey  gives  satiety ; 

A  second  draught  would  drug  thee  past  all  mirth. 

Thy  feast  no  orgy  shows  ; 

Thy  calm  eyes  never  close, 

Thou  soberest  sprite  to  which  the  sun  gives  birth. 
197 


THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON 

And  yet  the  soul  of  man  upon  thy  wings 
Forever  soars  in  aspiration ;  thou 
His  emblem  of  the  new  career  that  springs 
When  death's  arrest  bids  all  his  spirit  bow. 

He  seeks  his  hope  in  thee 

Of  immortality. 
Symbol  of  life,  me  with  such  faith  endow ! 


198 


DAEE  AND  KNOW 

THE  truths  we  cannot  win  are  fruit  forbidden, 
That  knowledge  only  is,  by  proof  not  ours, 
Which  lies  beyond  the  measure  of  our  powers  : 
Not  by  God's  grudging  are  our  natures  chidden, 
His  hidden  things  for  daring  search  are  hidden : 
The  cloudy  darkness  that  around  him  lowers 
Burns  only  with  his  glory,  and  the  dowers 
Of  Hero-hearts  who  have  gone  up  and  ridden 
The  storm  like  eagles  !     If  the  lightning  singe 
The  intrepid  wing,  't  is  but  the  burning  kiss 
Of  Victory  in  Espousal,  —  the  keen  bliss 
Whose  rapturous  thrill  might  make  the  coward 

cringe ! 

He  who  aloft  on  Rood-nails  hung  our  crown 
Smiles  when  with  bleeding  hands  we  climb  and 

pluck  it  down  ! 

THE  IDEAL  WINS 

THOUGH  hunger  sharpens  in  the  dream  of  food, 
And  thirst  burns  fiercer  for  the  visioned  brook, 


GEORGE  SHEPAED  BURLEIGH 

Our  souls  are  drawn  the  way  our  longings  look, 
And  our  ideal  good  is  actual  good. 
The  heavens  we  win  are  more  than  we  pursued ; 
For  the  great    Dream   has    cheapened   the    small 

nook 

That  once  for  all  the  rounded  world  we  took, 
And  our  sect  sinks  in  boundless  Brotherhood. 
By  noble  climbing,  though  the  heavens  recede, 
Broader  expands  the  horizon's  girdling  wall ; 
Through  misty  doubts  we  reach  the  sunnier  creed, 
And,  nearer  heaven,  see  earth  a  fairer  ball ; 
And  souls  that  soar  beyond  their  simple  need, 
To  grasp  the  highest,  are  made  free  of  all ! 


IMMANTJEL 

THE  Law  which  spheres  the  hugest  sun 
That  blazes  in  the  deeps  of  blue, 

And  binds  unnumbered  worlds  in  one, 
So  rounds  the  tiniest  drop  of  dew. 

The  God  who  sowed  the  midnight  gloom 
With  stars  that  blossom  evermore, 

StiU  lights  the  lowliest  lily-bloom 
That  nestles  by  the  cottage  door. 
200 


IMMANUEL 


An  atom  of  the  self-same  fire 
That  burned  in  Zoroaster's  soul, 

Kindles  the  humblest  heart's  desire, 
And  beacons  our  eternal  goal. 

What  Jesus  felt,  what  Moses  saw 

On  Sinai,  on  Gennesaret, 
Love's  boundless  glow,  the  lightning  Law, 

Our  hearts  have  known,  our  vision  met. 

For  God  in  every  nature  folds 
The  perfect  future  of  its  kind ; 

The  eternal  love  thy  bosom  holds, 

And  thrills  thy  thought  the  Eternal  Mind. 

Oh,  not  in  overweening  pride, 

But  calm  in  holy  trust  alone, 
Put  every  alien  law  aside, 

And  walk  serenely  by  thy  own. 

Cathayan  clogs,  Judean  creeds, 
Deform  and  fetter  limb  and  soul ; 

Life  only  from  within  proceeds, 
Evolving  one  harmonious  whole. 


201 


GEOKGE  SHEPARD  BURLEIGH 

The  heart,  self-centred,  that  alone 
Obeys  what  God  within  it  bids, 

Holds  firmly  its  inviolate  throne 
As  Andes  and  the  Pyramids. 

OUR  BIRTHRIGHT 

As  children  of  the  Infinite  Soul 
Our  Birthright  is  the  boundless  whole, 
Won  truth  by  truth  while  endless  ages  roll. 

Swift  Fancy's  wing  would  flag  in  flight 
To  reach  the  depth,  the  breadth,  and  height 
Of  the  vast  wealth  that  waits  our  growing  sight : 

High  truths  which  have  not  yet  been  dreamed, 
Realities  of  all  that  seemed 
Best  in  the  best  of  what  we  hoped  and  deemed  : 

Such  freedom  under  natural  law 
As  not  the  fabled  Eden  saw, 
So  large  and  calm,  and  full  of  blissful  awe  : 

And  love  that  cannot  fail  to  flow, 
Warm  as  the  sun  and  white  as  snow, 
Through  flesh  and  soul  that  sweet  as  lilies  grow : 


OUR  BIRTHRIGHT 


With  knowledge  that  on  sea  and  land 
And  air  shall  lay  familiar  hand, 
And  weigh  the  star-dust  on  creation's  strand ; 

And  wisdom  ever  more  divine, 
Of  clustered  knowledge  the  red  wine, 
Which  holds  the  world  dissolved  and  crystalline. 

Peace  over  all  in  skyey  calm 
Shall  weave  her  olive  with  the  palm 
Of  victory,  and  steep  the  earth  in  balm. 

A  thousand  years  the  soul  shall  climb 
To  guess  what  more  of  wealth  sublime 
Waits  for  a  conqueror  in  the  depths  of  time. 

The  fiends  who  guard  it,  hunger-gnawed, 
Are  Doubt  and  Fear  and  ancient  Fraud, 
And  grey  old  Use  by  whom  the  world  is  awed. 

But  heralds  of  the  better  day 
Beckon  us  on,  and  point  the  way, 
Where  earnest  seeking  never  goes  astray. 

No  peril  daunts  the  Brave ;  he  speeds 
Across  the  wreck  of  older  creeds, 
And  crownless  gods  cast  down  among  the  weeds. 
203 


GEOEGE  SHEPAED  BURLEIGH 

Doubt  dies  beneath  his  lifted  spear, 
Fraud  slinks  away  with  breathless  Fear, 
And  grey  old  Use  shrieks  in  his  heedless  ear. 

Wide  gape  these  parasites  aghast 
As  in  the  temples  of  the  Past 
He  sets  the  ark  of  living  Godhood  fast ; 

And  hollow  gods,  to  whom  they  pledge 
Libations  on  their  altar-ledge, 
Fall  shattered  down  to  bite  the  grunsel's  edge. 

Well  may  ye  deem  that  pain  and  loss 
Will  haunt  his  walks,  and  murder  toss 
On  him  the  boding  shadow  of  her  cross. 

But  loss  and  pain  will  wear  away 
The  thick  opacity  of  clay, 
And  the  cross  lift  him  to  the  zone  of  day  ! 

Far-seeking  his  imperial  goal, 
No  fate  can  rob  the  earnest  soul 
Of  his  great  birthright  in  the  boundless  whole ! 


204 


;|Funie00 
THE  SOUL 


WHAT  is  this  that  stirs  within, 
Loving  goodness,  hating  sin, 
Always  craving  to  be  blest, 
Finding  here  below  no  rest  ? 

Nought  that  charms  the  ear  or  eye 
Can  its  hunger  satisfy  ; 
Active,  restless,  it  would  pierce 
Through  the  outward  universe. 

What  is  it?  and  whither?  whence? 
This  unsleeping,  secret  sense, 
Longing  for  its  rest  and  food 
In  some  hidden,  untried  good  ? 

'T  is  the  soul  !     Mysterious  name  ! 
Him  it  seeks  from  whom  it  came  ; 
It  would,  Mighty  God,  like  thee, 
Holy,  holy,  holy  be  ! 
205 


WILLIAM   HENEY  FUENESS 


EVENING 

SLOWLY  by  thy  hand  unfurled, 
Down  around  the  weary  world 
Falls  the  darkness.     Oh,  how  still 
Is  the  working  of  thy  will ! 

Mighty  Maker !     Here  am  I, 
Work  in  me  as  silently ; 
Veil  the  day's  distracting  sights, 
Show  me  heaven's  eternal  lights. 

From  the  darkened  sky  come  forth 
Countless  stars.    A  wondrous  birth ! 
So  may  gleams  of  glory  dart 
From  this  dim  abyss,  my  heart. 

Living  worlds  to  view  be  brought 
In  the  boundless  realms  of  thought ; 
High  and  infinite  desires, 
Flashing  like  those  upper  fires. 

Holy  Truth,  Eternal  Eight, 
Let  them  break  upon  my  sight ; 


EVENING 


Let  them  shine,  serene  and  still, 
And  with  light  my  being  fill. 

Thou,  who  dwellest  there,  I  know, 
Dwellest  here  within  me,  too  ; 
May  the  perfect  love  of  God, 
Here,  as  there,  be  shed  abroad. 

Let  my  soul  attuned  be 
To  the  heavenly  harmony, 
Which,  beyond  the  power  of  sound, 
Fills  the  Universe  around. 


207 


FOR  DIVINE   STRENGTH 

FATHEE,  in  thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling, 
Fain  would  our  souls  feel  all  thy  kindling  love  ; 

For  we  are  weak,  and  need  some  deep  revealing 
Of  trust,  and  strength,  and  calmness  from  above. 

Lord,  we  have  wandered  far  through  doubt  and 
sorrow, 

And  thou  hast  made  each  step  an  onward  one ; 
And  we  will  ever  trust  each  unknown  morrow,  — 

Thou  wilt  sustain  us  till  its  work  is  done. 

In  the  heart's  depths  a  peace  serene  and  holy 
Abides ;  and  when  pain  seems  to  have  its  will, 

Or  we  despair,  O  may  that  peace  rise  slowly, 
Stronger  than  agony,  and  we  be  still ! 

Now,  Father,  now,  in  thy  dear  presence  kneeling, 
Our  spirits  yearn  to  feel  thy  kindling  love ; 

Now  make  us  strong,  we  need  thy  deep  revealing 
Of  trust,  and  strength,  and  calmness  from  above. 
208 


INSPIRATION 


INSPIRATION 

LIFE  of  Ages,  richly  poured, 
Love  of  God,  unspent  and  free, 

Flowing  in  the  prophet's  word 
And  the  people's  liberty ! 

Never  was  to  chosen  race 

That  unstinted  tide  confined ; 

Thine  is  every  time  and  place, 

Fountain  sweet  of  heart  and  mind  ! 

Secret  of  the  morning  stars, 
Motion  of  the  oldest  hours, 

Pledge  through  elemental  wars 
Of  the  coming  spirit's  powers  ! 

Rolling  planet,  flaming  sun, 
Stand  in  nobler  man  complete  ; 

Prescient  laws  thine  errands  run, 
Frame  the  shrine  for  Godhead  meet. 

Homeward  led,  the  wondering  eye 
Upward  yearned  in  joy  or  awe, 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON 


Found  the  love  that  waited  nigh, 
Guidance  of  thy  guardian  law. 

In  the  touch  of  earth  it  thrilled  ; 

Down  from  mystic  skies  it  burned ; 
Right  obeyed  and  passion  stilled 

Its  eternal  gladness  earned. 

Breathing  in  the  thinker's  creed, 
Pulsing  in  the  hero's  blood, 

Nerving  simplest  thought  and  deed, 
Freshening  time  with  truth  and  good, 

Consecrating  art  and  song, 
Holy  book  and  pilgrim  track, 

Hurling  floods  of  tyrant  wrong 
From  the  sacred  limits  back,  — 

Life  of  Ages,  richly  poured, 

Love  of  God,  unspent  and  free, 

Flow  still  in  the  Prophet's  word 
And  the  People's  liberty  ! 


210 


Samuel  fUmgfeltoto 

LOOKING  UNTO   GOD 

Who  sees  God's  hand  in  all  things,  and  all  things  in  God's 
hand." 

I  LOOK  to  thee  in  every  need, 

And  never  look  in  vain  ; 
I  feel  thy  touch,  Eternal  Love ! 

And  all  is  well  again. 
The  thought  of  thee  is  mightier  far 
Than  sin  and  pain  and  sorrow  are. 

Discouraged  in  the  work  of  life, 

Disheartened  by  its  load, 
Shamed  by  its  failures  or  its  fears, 

I  sink  beside  the  road,  — 
But  let  me  only  think  of  thee, 
And  then  new  heart  springs  up  in  me. 

Thy  calmness  bends  serene  above, 
My  restlessness  to  still ; 
211 


SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW 

Around  me  flows  thy  quickening  life 

"To  nerve  my  faltering  will ; 
Thy  presence  fills  my  solitude, 
Thy  providence  turns  all  to  good. 

Embosomed  deep  in  thy  dear  love, 
Held  in  thy  law,  I  stand  ; 

Thy  hand  in  all  things  I  behold, 
And  all  things  in  thy  hand ; 

Thou  leadest  me  by  unsought  ways, 

And  turn'st  my  mourning  into  praise. 

THE   CHUKCH  UNIVEKSAL 

ONE  holy  church  of  God  appears 
Through  every  age  and  race, 

Unwasted  by  the  lapse  of  years, 
Unchanged  by  changing  place. 

From  oldest  tune,  on  farthest  shores, 
Beneath  the  pine  or  palm, 

One  Unseen  Presence  she  adores 
With  silence  or  with  psalm. 

Her  priests  are  all  God's  faithful  sons, 
To  serve  the  world  raised  up ; 
212 


THE  CHURCH  UNIVERSAL 

The  pure  in  heart  her  baptized  ones, 
Love  her  communion-cup. 

The  truth  is  her  prophetic  gift, 

The  soul  her  sacred  page ; 
And  feet  on  mercy's  errands  swift 

Do  make  her  pilgrimage. 

O  living  Church !  thine  errand  speed, 

Fulfil  thy  work  sublime  ; 
With  bread  of  life  earth's  hunger  feed, 

Redeem  the  evil  time  I 


213 


THE   LOVE   OF  GOD 

THOU  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all, 

A  soundless,  shoreless  sea 
Wherein  at  last  our  souls  must  fall !  — 

O  Love  of  God  most  free  ! 

When  over  dizzy  heights  we  go, 
One  soft  hand  blinds  our  eyes, 

The  other  leads  us,  safe  and  slow, — 
O  Love  of  God  most  wise  ! 

And  though  we  turn  us  from  Thy  face, 
And  wander  wide  and  long, 

Thou  hold'st  us  still  in  Thine  embrace,  - 
O  Love  of  God  most  strong ! 

The  saddened  heart,  the  restless  soul, 
The  toil-worn  frame  and  mind, 

Alike  confess  Thy  sweet  control,  — 
O  Love  of  God  most  kind  ! 
214 


WHOM  BUT  THEE 


But  not  alone  Thy  care  we  claim, 

Our  wayward  steps  to  win : 
We  know  Thee  by  a  dearer  name,  — 

O  Love  of  God  within  ! 

And  filled  and  quickened  by  Thy  breath, 
Our  souls  are  strong  and  free 

To  rise  o'er  sin  and  fear  and  death, 
O  Love  of  God,  to  Thee ! 

WHOM   BUT  THEE 

FROM  past  regret  and  present  faithlessness, 
From  the  deep  shadow  of  foreseen  distress, 
And  from  the  nameless  weariness  that  grows 
As  life's  long  day  seems  wearing  to  its  close ; 

Thou  Life  within  my  life,  than  self  more  near ! 
Thou  veiled  Presence  infinitely  clear  ! 
From  all  illusive  shows  of  sense  I  flee 
To  find  my  centre  and  my  rest  in  Thee. 

Below  all  depths  Thy  saving  mercy  lies, 
Through  thickest  glooms  I  see  Thy  Light  arise ; 
Above  the  highest  heavens  Thou  art  not  found 
More  surely  than  within  this  earthly  round. 
215 


ELIZA  SCUDDER 


Take  part  with  me  against  these  doubts  that  rise 
And  seek  to  throne  Thee  far  in  distant  skies  ! 
Take  part  with  me  against  this  self  that  dares 
Assume  the  burden  of  these  sins  and  cares ! 

How  shall  I  call  Thee  who  art  always  here, 
How  shall  I  praise  Thee  who  art  still  most  dear, 
What  may  I  give  Thee  save  what  Thou  hast  given, 
And  whom  but  Thee  have  I  in  earth  or  heaven  ? 

TRUTH 

THOU  long  disowned,  reviled,  opprest, 

Strange  friend  of  human  kind, 
Seeking  through  weary  years  a  rest 

Within  our  heart  to  find. 

How  late  thy  bright  and  awful  brow 
Breaks  through  these  clouds  of  sin.  I 

Hail,  Truth  Divine !  we  know  thee  now, 
Angel  of  God,  come  in  ! 

Come,  though  with  purifying  fire 

And  desolating  sword, 
Thou  of  all  nations  the  desire, 

Earth  waits  Thy  cleansing  word* 
216 


NO  MORE  SEA 


Struck  by  the  lightning  of  Thy  glance 

Let  old  oppressions  die ! 
Before  Thy  cloudless  countenance 

Let  fear  and  falsehood  fly ! 

Anoint  our  eyes  with  healing  grace 

To  see  as  ne'er  before 
Our  Father,  in  our  brother's  face, 

Our  Master,  in  his  poor. 

Flood  our  dark  life  with  golden  day  I 
Convince,  subdue,  enthrall ! 

Then  to  a  mightier  yield  Thy  sway, 
And  Love  be  all  in  all ! 


NO  MORE   SEA 

LIFE  of  our  life,  and  Light  of  all  our  seeing, 
How  shall  we  rest  on  any  hope  but  Thee  ? 

What  time  our  souls,  to  Thee  for  refuge  fleeing, 
Long  for  the  home  where  there  is  no  more  sea? 

For  still  this  sea  of  life,  with  endless  wailing, 
Dashes  above  our  heads  its  blinding  spray, 

And  vanquished  hearts, sick  with  remorse  and  failing, 
Moan  like  the  waves  at  set  of  autumn  day. 
217 


ELIZA  SCUDDER 


And  ever  round  us  swells  the  insatiate  ocean 
Of  sin  and  doubt  that  lures  us  to  our  grave ; 

When  its  wild  billows,  with  their  mad  commotion, 
Would  sweep  us  down  —  then  only  Thou  canst 
save. 

And  deep  and  dark  the  fearful  gloom  unlighted 
Of  that  untried  and  all-surrounding  sea, 

On  whose  bleak  shore  arriving  lone,  benighted, 
We  fall  and  lose  ourselves  at  last  —  in  Thee. 

Yea !  in  Thy  life  our  little  lives  are  ended, 
Into  Thy  depths  our  trembling  spirits  fall ; 

In  Thee  enfolded,  gathered,  comprehended, 

As  holds  the  sea  her  waves  —  Thou  hold'st  us 
all! 


THANKSGIVING 

"  We  bless  Thee  ...  for  the  means  of  grace  and  for  the  hope 
of  glory." 

FOE  the  rapt  stillness  of  the  place 
Where  sacred  song  and  ordered  prayer 

Wait  the  unveiling  of  Thy  face, 

And  seek  Thy  angels'  joys  to  share ; 
218 


THANKSGIVING 


For  souls  won  o'er  to  truth  and  right, 
For  wisdom  dropping  as  the  dew, 

For  Thy  great  Word  in  lines  of  light, 
Made  visible  to  mortal  view ; 

For  gladness  of  the  summer  morning, 
For  fair  faint  twilight's  lingering  ray, 

For  forest's  and  for  field's  adorning, 
And  the  wild  ocean's  ceaseless  play  ; 

For  flowers  unsought,  in  desert  places 
Flashing  enchantment  on  the  sight ; 

For  radiance  on  familiar  faces 

As  they  passed  upward  into  light ; 

For  blessings  of  the  fruitful  season, 

For  work  and  rest,  for  friends  and  home, 

For  the  great  gifts  of  thought  and  reason,  — 
To  praise  and  bless  Thee,  Lord,  we  come. 

Yes,  and  for  weeping  and  for  wailing, 
For  bitter  hail  and  blighting  frost, 

For  high  hopes  on  the  low  earth  trailing, 
For  sweet  joys  missed,  for  pure  aims  crost 

For  lonely  toil  and  tribulation, 

And  e'en  for  hidings  of  Thy  face,  — 
219 


ELIZA  SCUDDER 


For  these  Thy  heralds  of  salvation, 
Thy  means  and  messengers  of  grace. 

With  joy  supreme,  with  faith  unbroken, 
With  worship  passing  thought  or  speech, 

Of  Thy  dear  love  we  hail  each  token, 
And  give  Thee  humble  thanks  for  each. 

For  o'er  our  struggling  and  our  sighing, 
Now  quenched  in  mist,  now  glimmering  far 

Above  our  living  and  our  dying, 

Hangs  high  in  Heaven  one  beckoning  star. 

And  when  we  gather  up  the  story 

Of  all  Thy  mercies  flowing  free, 
Crown  of  them  all,  that  hope  of  glory, 

Of  growing  ever  nearer  Thee. 


VESPER   HYMN 

THE  day  is  done,  the  weary  day  of  thought  and 

toil  is  past, 
Soft  falls  the  twilight  cool  and  gray  on  the  tired 

earth  at  last : 


VESPER  HYMN 


By  wisest  teachers  wearied,  by  gentlest  friends  op- 

prest, 
In  Thee  alone  the  soul,  outworn,  refreshment  finds 

and  rest. 

Bend,  gracious  Spirit,  from  above,  like  these  o'er- 
arching  skies, 

And  to  Thy  firmament  of  love  lift  up  these  long- 
ing eyes ; 

And,  folded  by  Thy  sheltering  Hand,  in  refuge 
still  and  deep, 

Let  blessed  thoughts  from  Thee  descend,  as  drop 
the  dews  of  sleep. 

And  when  refreshed  the  soul  once  more  puts  on 

new  life  and  power ; 
Oh,  let  Thine  image,  Lord,  alone,  gild  the  first 

waking  hour ! 
Let  that  dear  Presence  dawn  and  glow,  fairer  than 

morn's  first  ray, 
And  Thy  pure  radiance  overflow  the  splendor  of 

the  day. 

So  in  the  hastening  evening,  so  in  the  coming  morn, 
When  deeper  slumber  shall  be  given,  and  fresher 
life  be  born, 


ELIZA  SCUDDER 


Shine  out,  true  Light !  to  guide  my  way  amid  that 

deepening  gloom, 
And  rise,  O  Morning  Star,  the  first  that  dayspring 

to  illume ! 

I   cannot   dread  the   darkness   where   Thou   wilt 

watch  o'er  me, 
Nor  smile  to  greet  the  sunrise  unless  Thy  smile  I 

see; 
Creator,  Saviour,  Comforter !  on  Thee  my  soul  is 

cast; 
At  morn,  at  night,  in  earth,  in  heaven,  be  Thou 

my  First  and  Last ! 


THE  QUEST 

"  Whither  shall  I  go  from  Thy  spirit  ?  or  whither  shall  I  flee 
from  Thy  presence  ?  " 

I  CANNOT  find  Thee !     Still  on  restless  pinion 
My  spirit  beats  the  void  where  Thou  dost  dwell ; 

I  wander  lost  through  all  Thy  vast  dominion, 
And  shrink  beneath  Thy  Light  ineffable. 

I  cannot  find  Thee !     E'en  when  most  adoring 
Before  Thy  throne  I  bend  in  lowliest  prayer ; 


THE   QUEST 


Beyond  these  bounds  of  thought,  my  thought  up- 
soaring, 

From  farthest  quest  comes  back ;  Thou  art  not 
there. 

Yet  high  above  the  limits  of  my  seeing, 
And  folded  far  within  the  inmost  heart, 

And  deep  below  the  deeps  of  conscious  being, 
Thy  splendor  shineth ;  there,  O  God,  Thou  art. 

I  cannot  lose  Thee !    Still  in  Thee  abiding 
The  end  is  clear,  how  wide  soe'er  I  roam ; 

The  Hand  that  holds  the  worlds  my  steps  is  guid- 
ing* 
And  I  must  rest  at  last,  in  Thee,  my  home. 


223 


LOVE'S  FULFILLING 

O  LOVE  is  weak 

Which  counts  the  answers  and  the  gains, 
Weighs  all  the  losses  and  the  pains, 
And  eagerly  each  fond  word  drains 

A  joy  to  seek. 

When  Love  is  strong, 
It  never  tarries  to  take  heed, 
Or  know  if  its  return  exceed 
Its  gifts  ;  in  its  sweet  haste  no  greed, 

No  strifes  belong. 

It  hardly  asks 

If  it  be  loved  at  all ;  to  take 
So  barren  seems,  when  it  can  make 
Such  bliss,  for  the  beloved  sake, 

Of  bitter  tasks. 


NOT   AS   I  WILL" 


Its  ecstasy 

Could  find  hard  death  so  beauteous, 
It  sees  through  tears  how  Christ  loved  us, 
And  speaks,  in  saying  "  I  love  thus," 

No  blasphemy. 

So  much  we  miss 
If  love  is  weak,  so  much  we  gain 
If  love  is  strong,  God  thinks  no  pain 
Too  sharp  or  lasting  to  ordain 

To  teach  us  this. 


"NOT   AS   I   WILL" 

BLINDFOLDED  and  alone  I  stand 
With  unknown  thresholds  on  each  hand ; 
The  darkness  deepens  as  I  grope, 
Afraid  to  fear,  afraid  to  hope : 
Yet  this  one  thing  I  learn  to  know 
Each  day  more  surely  as  I  go, 
That  doors  are  opened,  ways  are  made, 
Burdens  are  lifted  or  are  laid, 
By  some  great  law  unseen  and  still, 
Unfathomed  purpose  to  fulfil, 
"  Not  as  I  will." 
225 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON 

Blindfolded  and  alone  I  wait ; 
Loss  seems  too  bitter,  gain  too  late ; 
Too  heavy  burdens  in  the  load 
And  too  few  helpers  on  the  road ; 
And  joy  is  weak  and  grief  is  strong, 
And  years  and  days  so  long,  so  long : 
Yet  this  one  thing  I  learn  to  know 
Each  day  more  surely  as  I  go, 
That  I  am  glad  the  good  and  ill 
By  changeless  law  are  ordered  still, 
«  Not  as  I  will." 

"  Not  as  I  will :  "  the  sound  grows  sweet 
Each  time  my  lips  the  words  repeat. 
"  Not  as  I  will :  "  the  darkness  feels 
More  safe  than  light  when  this  thought  steals 
Like  whispered  voice  to  calm  and  bless 
All  unrest  and  all  loneliness. 
"  Not  as  I  will,"  because  the  One 
Who  loved  us  first  and  best  has  gone 
Before  us  on  the  road,  and  still 
For  us  must  all  his  love  fulfil, 
"  Not  as  we  will." 


SPINNING 


SPINNING 

LIKE  a  blind  spinner  in  the  sun, 

I  tread  my  days ; 
I  know  that  all  the  threads  will  run 

Appointed  ways ; 

I  know  each  day  will  bring  its  task ; 
And,  being  blind,  no  more  I  ask. 

I  do  not  know  the  use  or  name 

Of  that  I  spin  ; 
I  only  know  that  some  one  came, 

And  laid  within 

My  hand  the  thread,  and  said,  "  Since  you 
Are  blind,  but  one  thing  you  can  do." 

Sometimes  the  threads  so  rough  and  fast 

And  tangled  fly, 
I  know  wild  storms  are  sweeping  past, 

And  fear  that  I 

Shall  fall,  but  dare  not  try  to  find 
A  safer  place,  since  I  am  blind. 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON 

I  know  not  why,  but  I  am  sure 

That  tint  and  place, 
In  some  great  fabric  to  endure 

Past  time  and  race, 

My  threads  will  have  ;  so  from  the  first, 
Though  blind,  I  never  felt  accurst. 

I  think,  perhaps,  this  trust  has  sprung 

From  one  short  word 
Said  over  me  when  I  was  young,  — 

So  young,  I  heard 

It,  knowing  not  that  God's  name  signed 
My  brow,  and  sealed  me  his,  though  blind. 

But  whether  this  be  seal  or  sign 

Within,  without, 
It  matters  not.     The  bond  divine 

I  never  doubt. 

I  know  he  set  me  here,  and  still, 
And  glad,  and  blind,  I  wait  his  will ; 

But  listen,  listen,  day  by  day, 

To  hear  their  tread 
Who  bear  the  finished  web  away, 

And  cut  the  thread, 
And  bring  God's  message  in  the  sun, 
"  Thou  poor  blind  spinner,  work  is  done.' 
228 


HYMN 


HYMN 

I  CANNOT  think  but  God  must  know 
About  the  thing  I  long  for  so ; 
I  know  He  is  so  good,  so  kind, 
I  cannot  think  but  He  will  find 
Some  way  to  help,  some  way  to  show 
Me  to  the  thing  I  long  for  so. 

I  stretch  my  hand  —  it  lies  so  near  : 
It  looks  so  sweet,  it  looks  so  dear. 
"  Dear  Lord,"  I  pray,  "  Oh  let  me  know 
If  it  is  wrong  to  want  it  so  ?  " 
He  only  smiles,  —  He  does  not  speak : 
My  heart  grows  weaker  and  more  weak, 
With  looking  at  the  thing  so  dear, 
Which  lies  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 

Now,  Lord,  I  leave  at  Thy  loved  feet 
This  thing  which  looks  so  near,  so  sweet ; 
I  will  not  seek,  I  will  not  long,  — 
I  almost  fear  I  have  been  wrong. 


HELEN   HUNT  JACKSON 

I  '11  go,  and  work  the  harder,  Lord, 
And  wait  till  by  some  loud,  clear  word 
Thou  callest  me  to  Thy  loved  feet, 
To  take  this  thing  so  dear,  so  sweet. 


THE   LOVE   OF  GOD 

LIKE  a  cradle  rocking,  rocking, 

Silent,  peaceful,  to  and  fro, 
Like  a  mother's  sweet  looks  dropping 

On  the  little  face  below, 
Hangs  the  green  earth,  swinging,  turning, 

Jarless,  noiseless,  safe,  and  slow; 
Falls  the  light  of  God's  face  bending 

Down  and  watching  us  below. 

And  as  feeble  babes  that  suffer, 

Toss,  and  cry,  and  will  not  rest, 
Are  the  ones  the  tender  mother 

Holds  the  closest,  loves  the  best,  — 
So  when  we  are  weak  and  wretched, 

By  our  sins  weighed  down,  distressed, 
Then  it  is  that  God's  great  patience 

Holds  us  closest,  loves  us  best. 

230 


IBfctoartr  LvoiiUantJ  S>ill 

LIFE 

FORENOON  and  afternoon  and  night,  — Forenoon, 
And   afternoon,   and   night,  —  Forenoon,   and  — 

what! 

The  empty  song  repeats  itself.     No  more  ? 
Yes,  that  is  Life  :  make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  Time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  won. 


THE  FUTURE 

WHAT  may  we  take  into  the  vast  Forever  ? 

That  marble  door 
Admits  no  fruit  of  all  our  long  endeavor, 

No  fame-wreathed  crown  we  wore, 

No  garnered  lore. 

What  can  we  bear  beyond  the  unknown  portal  ? 
No  gold,  no  gains 
231 


EDWARD  ROWLAND   SILL 

Of  all  our  toiling  :  in  the  life  immortal 
No  hoarded  wealth  remains, 
No  gilds,  nor  stains. 

Naked  from  out  that  far  abyss  behind  us 

We  entered  here  : 
No  word  came  with  our  coming,  to  remind  us 

What  wondrous  world  was  near, 

No  hope,  no  fear. 

Into  the  silent,  starless  Night  before  us, 

Naked  we  glide  : 

No  hand  has  mapped  the  constellations  o'er 
us, 

No  comrade  at  our  side, 

No  chart,  no  guide. 

Yet  fearless  toward  that  midnight,  black  and 
hollow, 

Our  footsteps  fare : 

The   beckoning  of   a  Father's  hand  we   fol- 
low— 

His  love  alone  is  there, 
No  curse,  no  care. 


A  PKAYER 


A  PRAYER 

O  GOD,  our  Father,  if  we  had  but  truth ! 

Lost  truth  —  which  thou  perchance 
Didst  let  man  lose,  lest  all  his  wayward  youth 

He  waste  in  song  and  dance ; 
That  he  might  gain,  in  searching,  mightier  powers, 
For  manlier  use  in  those  foreshadowed  hours. 

If  blindly  groping,  he  shall  oft  mistake, 

And  follow  twinkling  motes 
Thinking  them  stars,  and  the  one  voice  forsake 

Of  Wisdom  for  the  notes 
Which  mocking  Beauty  utters  here  and  there, 
Thou  surely  wilt  forgive  him,  and  forbear ! 

Oh  love  us,  for  we  love  thee,  Maker  —  God  ! 

And  would  creep  near  thy  hand, 
And  call  thee  "  Father,  Father,"  from  the  sod 

Where  by  our  graves  we  stand, 
And  pray  to  touch,  fearless  of  scorn  or  blame, 
The  garment's  hem,  which  Truth  and  Good  we 
name. 

233 


EDWAKD  ROWLAND  SILL 


WIEGENLIED 

BE  still  and  sleep,  my  soul ! 

Now  gentle-footed  Night 
In  softly  shadowed  stole 

Holds  all  the  day  from  sight. 

Why  shouldst  thou  lie  and  stare 
Against  the  dark,  and  toss, 

And  live  again  thy  care, 
Thine  agony  and  loss  ? 

'T  was  given  thee  to  live, 
And  thou  hast  lived  it  all ; 

Let  that  suffice,  nor  give 

One  thought  what  may  befall. 

Thou  hast  no  need  to  wake, 

Thou  art  no  sentinel ; 
Love  all  the  care  will  take, 

And  Wisdom  watcheth  well. 


FOECE 


Weep  not,  think  not,  but  rest ! 

The  stars  in  silence  roll ; 
On  the  world's  mother-breast, 

Be  still  and  sleep,  my  soul ! 

FORCE 

THE  stars  know  a  secret 

They  do  not  tell ; 
And  morn  brings  a  message 

Hidden  weU. 

There  's  a  blush  on  the  apple, 

A  tint  on  the  wing, 
And  the  bright  wind  whistles, 

And  the  pulses  sting. 

Perish  dark  memories! 

There 's  light  ahead  ; 
This  world 's  for  the  living ; 

Not  for  the  dead. 

In  the  shining  city, 

On  the  loud  pave, 
The  lif  e-tide  is  running, 

Like  a  leading  wave. 


EDWARD   BOWLAND     SILL 

How  the  stream  quickens, 

As  noon  draws  near, 
No  room  for  loiterers, 

No  time  for  fear. 

Out  on  the  farm  lands 
Earth  smiles  as  well ; 

Gold-crusted  grain-fields, 
With  sweet,  warm  smell ; 

Whir  of  the  reaper, 

Like  a  giant  bee  ; 
Like  a  Titan  cricket, 

Thrilling  with  glee. 

On  mart  and  meadow, 

Pavement  or  plain  ; 
On  azure  mountain, 

Or  azure  main  — 

Heaven  bends  in  blessing ; 

Lost  is  but  won  ; 
Goes  the  good  rain-cloud, 

Comes  the  good  sun  ! 

Only  babes  whimper, 
And  sick  men  wail, 
236 


TRANQUILLITY 


And  faint  hearts  and  feeble  hearts 
And  weaklings  fail. 

Down  the  great  currents 

Let  the  boat  swing  ; 
There  was  never  winter 

But  brought  the  spring. 


TRANQUILLITY 

WEABY,  and  marred  with  care  and  pain 
And  bruising  days,  the  human  brain 
Draws  wounded  inward,  —  it  might  be 
Some  delicate  creature  of  the  sea, 
That,  shuddering,  shrinks  its  lucent  dome, 
And  coils  its  azure  tendrils  home, 
And  folds  its  filmy  curtains  tight 
At  jarring  contact,  e'er  so  light ; 
But  let  it  float  away  all  free, 
And  feel  the  buoyant,  supple  sea 
Among  its  tinted  streamers  swell, 
Again  it  spreads  its  gauzy  wings, 
And,  waving  its  wan  fringes,  swings 
With  rhythmic  pulse  its  crystal  bell. 
237 


EDWAKD   KOWLAND   SILL 

So  let  the  mind,  with  care  o'erwrought, 

Float  down  the  tranquil  tides  of  thought : 

Calm  visions  of  unending  years 

Beyond  this  little  moment's  fears  ; 

Of  boundless  regions  far  from  where 

The  girdle  of  the  azure  air 

Binds  to  the  earth  the  prisoned  mind. 

Set  free  the  fancy,  let  it  find 

Beyond  our  world  a  vaster  place 

To  thrill  and  vibrate  out  through  space,  — 

As  some  auroral  banner  streams 

Up  through  the  night  in  pulsing  gleams, 

And  floats  and  flashes  o'er  our  dreams  ; 

There  let  the  whirling  planet  fall 

Down  —  down,  till  but  a  glimmering  ball, 

A  misty  star  :  and  dwindled  so, 

There  is  no  room  for  care,  or  woe, 

Or  wish,  apart  from  that  one  Will 

That  doth  the  worlds  with  music  fill. 


PEACE 

'T  is  not  in  seeking, 
'T  is  not  in  endless  striving, 
Thy  quest  is  found : 


PEACE 


Be  still  and  listen  ; 
Be  still  and  drink  the  quiet 
Of  all  around. 

Not  for  thy  crying, 

Not  for  thy  loud  beseeching, 

Will  peace  draw  near : 
Rest  with  palms  folded  ; 
Best  with  thine  eyelids  fallen 

Lo !  peace  is  here. 


Julia 

STANZAS 


OF  the  heaven  is  generation  : 

Fruition  in  the  deep  earth  lies  : 

And  where  the  twain  have  broadest  blending, 

The  stateliest  growths  of  life  arise. 

Set,  then,  thy  root  in  earth  more  firmly  : 
Raise  thy  head  erect  and  free  : 
And  spread  thy  loving  arms  so  widely, 
That  heaven  and  earth  shall  meet  in  thee. 


WARNING 

POWER,  reft  of  aspiration  ; 
Passion,  lacking  inspiration ; 
Leisure,  not  of  contemplation. 

Thus  shall  danger  overcome  thee, 
Fretted  luxury  consume  thee, 
All  divineness  vanish  from  thee. 
240 


PRICE  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA 

Be  a  man,  and  be  one  wholly ; 
Keep  one  great  love,  purely,  solely, 
Till  it  make  thy  nature  holy ; 

That  thy  way  be  paved  in  whiteness, 
That  thy  heart  may  beat  in  lightness, 
That  thy  being  end  in  brightness. 


THE  PKICE  OF  THE  DIVINA 
COMMEDIA 

GIVE,  —  you  need  not  see  the  face, 
But  the  garment  hangeth  bare ; 
And  the  hand  is  gaunt  and  spare 
That  enforces  Christian  grace. 

Many  ages  will  not  bring 
Such  a  point  as  this  to  sight, 
That  the  world  should  so  requite 
Master  heart  and  matchless  string. 

Wonder  at  the  well-born  feet 
Fretting  in  the  flinty  road. 
Hath  this  virtue  no  abode  ? 
Hath  this  sorrow  no  retreat  ? 
241 


JULIA  WARD   HOWE 


See,  beneath  the  hood  of  grief, 
Muffled  bays  engird  the  brow. 
Fame  shall  yield  her  topmost  bough 
Ere  that  laurel  moult  a  leaf. 

Give :  it  is  no  idle  hand 
That  extends  an  asking  palm, 
Tracing  yet  the  loftiest  psalm 
By  the  heart  of  Nature  spanned. 

In  the  antechamber  long 
Did  he  patient  hearing  crave  : 
Smiles  and  splendors  crown  the  slave, 
While  the  patriot  suffers  wrong. 

Could  the  mighty  audience  deign, 
Meeting  once  the  inspired  gaze, 
They  should  ransom  all  their  days 
With  the  beauty  of  his  strain. 

With  a  spasm  in  his  breast, 
With  a  consummate  love  alone, 
All  his  human  blessings  gone, 
Doth  he  wander,  void  of  rest. 

Not  a  coin  within  his  purse, 
Not  a  crust  to  help  his  way, 
242 


THE   HOUSE  OF  REST 

Making  yet  a  Judgment  Day 
With  his  power  to  bless  and  curse. 

Give ;  but  ask  what  he  has  given : 
That  Posterity  shall  tell,— 
All  the  majesty  of  Hell ; 
Half  the  ecstasy  of  Heaven. 

THE  HOUSE   OF  REST 

I  WILL  build  a  house  of  rest, 
Square  the  corners  every  one : 
At  each  angle  on  his  breast 
Shall  a  cherub  take  the  sun  ; 
Rising,  risen,  sinking,  down, 
Weaving  day's  unequal  crown. 

In  the  chambers,  light  as  air, 
Shall  responsive  footsteps  fall  : 
Brother,  sister,  art  thou  there  ? 
Hush  !  we  need  not  jar  nor  call ; 
Need  not  turn  to  seek  the  face 
Shut  in  rapture's  hiding-place. 

Heavy  load  and  mocking  care 
Shall  from  back  and  bosom  part ; 
243 


JULIA  WAKD  HOWE 


Thought  shall  reach  the  thrill  of  prayer, 
Patience  plan  the  dome  of  art. 
None  shall  praise  or  merit  claim, 
Not  a  joy  be  called  by  name. 

With  a  free,  unmeasured  tread 
Shall  we  pace  the  cloisters  through : 
Rest,  enfranchised,  like  the  Dead ; 
Rest  till  Love  be  born  anew. 
Weary  Thought  shall  take  his  time, 
Free  of  task-work,  loosed  from  rhyme. 

No  reproof  shall  grieve  or  chill ; 
Every  sin  doth  stand  confest ; 
None  need  murmur,  "  This  was  ill :  " 
Therefore  do  they  grant  us  rest ; 
Contemplation  making  whole 
Every  ruin  of  the  soul. 

Pictures  shall  as  softly  look 
As  in  distance  shows  delight ; 
Slowly  shall  each  saintly  book 
Turn  its  pages  in  our  sight ; 
Not  the  study's  wealth  confuse, 
Urging  zeal  to  pale  abuse. 

244 


THE  HOUSE  OF  BEST 

Children  through  the  windows  peep, 
Not  reproachful,  though  our  own ; 
Hushed  the  parent  passion  deep, 
And  the  household's  eager  tone. 
One  above,  divine  and  true, 
Makes  us  children  like  to  you. 

Measured  bread  shall  build  us  up 
At  the  hospitable  board; 
In  Contentment's  golden  cup 
Is  the  guileless  liquor  poured. 
May  the  beggar  pledge  the  king 
In  that  spirit  gathering. 

Oh !  my  house  is  far  away ; 
Yet  it  sometimes  shuts  me  in. 
Imperfection  mars  each  day 
While  the  perfect  works  begin. 
In  the  house  of  labor  best 
Can  I  build  the  house  of  rest. 


Zioto 

PRAYER 


AT  first  I  prayed  for  sight  ; 

Could  I  but  see  the  way, 
How  gladly  would  I  walk 

To  everlasting  day. 
I  asked  the  world's  deep  law 

Before  my  eyes  to  ope, 
And  let  me  see  my  prayers  fulfilled, 

And  realized,  my  hope  ; 
But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 

And  mystery  veiled  me  everywhere. 

And  next  I  prayed  for  strength 

That  I  might  tread  the  road, 
With  firm  unfaltering  pace, 

To  heaven's  serene  abode. 
That  I  might  never  know 

A  faltering,  failing  heart  ; 
But  manfully  go  on 

And  reach  the  highest  part. 
246 


PRAYER 

But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 
And  weakness  checked  me  everywhere. 

And  then  I  asked  for  faith  ; 

Could  I  but  trust  my  God, 
I  'd  live  in  heavenly  peace 

Though  foes  were  all  abroad. 
His  light  thus  shining  round, 

No  faltering  should  I  know ; 
And  faith  in  heaven  above 

Would  make  a  heaven  below ; 
But  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 

And  doubts  beset  me  everywhere. 

And  now  I  pray  for  love, 

Deep  love  to  God  and  man ; 
A  love  that  will  not  fail, 

However  dark  his  plan  ; 
That  sees  all  life  in  Him, 

Rejoicing  in  his  power ; 
And  faithful,  though  the  darkest  clouds 

Of  gloom  and  doubt  may  lower. 
And  God  was  kinder  than  my  prayer, 

Love  filled  and  blessed  me  everywhere. 


247 


EDNAH  DOW  CHENEY 


WAITING  HELP 

The  question  was  asked, "  To  Whom  do  Free  Religionists  pray? ' 
The  reply  was,  "  To  Whomsoever  they  believe  will  help  them." 

WHATE'ER  the  Name,  whate'er  the  Power, 
That  helped  me  in  my  bitter  hour, 
I  know  there  came  a  Strength  not  mine, 
A  peace  not  earthly,  but  Divine. 

That  peace,  that  strength,  I  know  it  waits 
For  every  heart  that  opes  its  gates, 
To  let  the  Gracious  Presence  in ; 
And  with  its  help  new  life  begin. 

So  waits  the  morning  in  the  skies, 
Until  the  sleeper  opes  his  eyes ; 
So  breaks  the  Sea  on  every  shore, 
The  sick  and  weary  to  restore. 

Each  lovely  flower,  each  busy  bee, 
Says,  "  Only  come,  I  '11  give  to  thee ;  " 
The  North  Star  waited,  aeons  back, 
To  guide  the  slave  on  freedom's  track. 


«I  SHALL  BE  SATISFIED" 

Each  hero  soul,  each  martyr  heart, 
In  thy  deep  pain  has  borne  its  part ; 
And  every  triumph  in  the  skies 
Has  helped  my  unfledged  soul  to  rise. 

The  Over-soul,  the  All,  the  Law, 
The  God  whom  mortal  eyes  ne'er  saw, 
And  yet  whose  presence  all  things  knew, 
'T  was  that  helped  me  and  will  help  you. 


«I  SHALL  BE   SATISFIED  WHEN  I 
AWAKE  WITH  THY  LIKENESS" 

««  WAKEN  in  Thy  likeness,"  meet  Thee  face  to  face, 
Know  the  sweet  unfoldings  of  Thy  perfect  love, 

All  the  wondrous  meaning  of  Thy  wisdom  trace, 
All  the  perfect  justice  of  Thine  order  prove. 

"Waken  in  Thy  likeness,"    be  what   Thou  hast 

willed, 
Know  the  sweet  communion  hearts  can  meet  in 

Thee, 
All     earth's    restless    passions,   all    its    longings 

stilled, 

All  times  blended  in  Eternity. 
249 


EDNAH  DOW   CHENEY 

"  Waken  in  Thy  likeness,"  knowing  all  Thy  truth, 
Loving  all  Thy  children,  living  in  Thy  breath, 

Blossoming  forever  in  the  joy  of  youth. 

Break   thy   peaceful    slumber,    waken    me,   oh 
Death ! 


Jofjn 

WAITING 

SERENE,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait, 
Nor  care  for  wind,  or  tide,  or  sea ; 

I  rave  no  more  'gainst  Time  or  Fate, 
For  lo  !  my  own  shall  come  to  me. 

I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 
For  what  avails  this  eager  pace  ? 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

Asleep,  awake,  by  night  or  day, 
The  friends  I  seek  are  seeking  me ; 

No  wind  can  drive  my  bark  astray, 
Nor  change  the  tide  of  destiny. 

What  matter  if  I  stand  alone? 

I  wait  with  joy  the  coming  years ; 
My  heart  shall  reap  where  it  hath  sown, 

And  garner  up  its  fruit  of  tears. 
251 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 


The  waters  know  their  own,  and  draw 
The  brook  that  springs  in  yonder  height ; 

So  flows  the  good  with  equal  law 
Unto  the  soul  of  pure  delight. 

The  stars  come  nightly  to  the  sky ; 

The  tidal  wave  unto  the  sea  ; 
Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  deep,  nor  high, 

Can  keep  my  own  away  from  me. 


GOLDEN  CROWN   SPARROW   OF 
ALASKA 

OH,  minstrel  of  these  borean  hills, 
Where  twilight  hours  are  long, 

I  would  my  boyhood's  fragrant  days 
Had  known  thy  plaintive  song  ; 

Had  known  thy  vest  of  ashen  gray, 
Thy  coat  of  drab  and  brown, 

The  bands  of  jet  upon  thy  head 
That  clasp  thy  golden  crown. 

We  heard  thee  in  the  cold  White  Pass, 
Where  cloud  and  mountain  meet, 


GOLDEN  CROWN  SPARROW 

Again  where  Muif 's  glacier  shone 
Far  spread  beneath  our  feet. 

I  bask  me  now  on  emerald  heights 
To  catch  thy  faintest  strain, 

But  cannot  tell  if  in  thy  lay 
Be  more  of  joy  or  pain. 

Far  off  behold  the  snow-white  peaks 
Athwart  the  sea's  blue-shade  ; 

Anear  there  rise  green  Kadiak  hills, 
Wherein  thy  nest  is  made. 

I  hear  the  wild  bee's  mellow  chord, 

In  airs  that  swim  above  ; 
The  lesser  hermit  tunes  his  flute 

To  solitude  and  love. 

But  thou,  sweet  singer  of  the  wild, 

I  give  more  heed  to  thee ; 
Thy  wistful  note  of  fond  regret 

Strikes  deeper  chords  in  me. 

Farewell,  dear  bird !  I  turn  my  face 
To  other  skies  than  thine  — 

A  thousand  leagues  of  land  and  sea 
Between  thy  home  and  mine. 
253 


jfrattftiin 

ANATHEMATA 

"  O  maiden !  come  into  port  bravely,  or  sail  with  God  the  seas." 

WITH  joys  unknown,  with  sadness  unconfessed, 
The  generous  heart  accepts  the  passing  year, 
Finds  duties  dear,  and  labor  sweet  as  rest, 
And  for  itself  knows  neither  care  nor  fear. 
Fresh  as  the  morning,  earnest  as  the  hour 
That  calls  the  noisy  world  to  grateful  sleep, 
Our  silent  thought  reveres  the  nameless  power 
That  high  seclusion  round  thy  life  doth  keep  : 
So,  feigned  the  poets,  did  Diana  love 
To  smile  upon  her  darlings  while  they  slept ; 
Serene,  untouched,  and  walking  far  above 
The  narrow  ways  wherein  the  many  crept, 
Along  her  lovely  path  of  luminous  air 
She  glided,  of  her  brightness  unaware. 

Yet  if  they  said  she  heeded  not  the  hymn 
Of  shepherds  gazing  heavenward  from  the  moor  ; 
Or  homeward  sailors,  when  the  waters  dim 
254 


EMERSON 


Flashed  with  long  splendors,  widening  toward  the 

shore ; 

Nor  wondering  eyes  of  children  cared  to  see ; 
Or  glowing  face  of  happy  lover,  upturned, 
As  late  he  wended  from  the  trysting-tree, 
Lit  by  the  kindly  lamp  in  heaven  that  burned  ; 
And  heard  unmoved  the  prayer  of  wakeful  pain, 
Or  consecrated  maiden's  holy  vow,  — 
Believe  them  not :  they  sing  the  song  in  vain  ; 
For  so  it  never  was,  and  is  not  now. 
Her  heart  was  gentle  as  her  face  was  fair, 
With  grace  and  love  and  pity  dwelling  there. 


EMERSON 

LONELY  these  meadows  green, 

Silent  these  warbling  woodlands  must  appear 

To  us,  by  whom  our  Poet-sage  was  seen 

Wandering  among  their  beauties,  year  by  year, 

Listening  with  delicate  ear 

To  each  fine  note  that  fell  from  tree  or  sky, 

Or  rose  from  earth  on  high,  — 

Glancing  his  falcon  eye, 

In  kindly  radiance,  as  of  some  young  star, 

At  all  the  shows  of  Nature  near  and  far, 


FRANKLIN  BENJAMIN  SANBOEN 

Or  on  the  tame  procession  plodding  by 

Of  daily  toil  and  care, — and  all  Life's  pagean- 

try; 

Then  darting  forth  warm  beams  of  wit  and  love, 
Wide  as  the  sun's  great  orbit,  and  as  high  above 
These  paths  wherein  our  lowly  tasks  we  ply. 

His  was  the  task  and  his  the  lordly  gift 

Our  eyes,  our  hearts,  bent  earthward,  to  uplift ; 

He  found  us  chained  in  Plato's  fabled  cave, 

Our  faces  long  averted  from  the  blaze 

Of  Heaven's  broad  light,  and  idly  turned  to  gaze 

On  shadows,  flitting  ceaseless  as  the  wave 

That  dashes  ever  idly  on  some  isle  enchanted  ; 

By  shadows  haunted 

We  sat,  —  amused  in  youth,  in  manhood  daunted, 

In  vacant  age  forlorn,  —  then  slipped  within  the 

grave, 
The    same   dull   chain    still    clasped   around   our 

shroud. 

These  captives,  bound  and  bowed, 
He  from  their  dungeon  like  that  angel  led, 
Who  softly  to  imprisoned  Peter  said, 
"Arise  up  quickly  !  gird  thyself  and  flee  !  " 
We  wist  not  whose  the  thrilling  voice,  we  knew 

our  souls  were  free. 
256 


EMEESON 


Ah !  blest  those  years  of  youthful  hope, 

When  every  breeze  was   zephyr,  every  morning 

May! 

Then,  as  we  bravely  climbed  the  slope 
Of  life's  steep  mount,  we  gained  a  wider  scope 
At  every  stair,  —  and  could  with  joy  survey 
The  track  beneath  us,  and  the  upward  way ; 
Both   lay  in   light,  —  round  both   the  breath  of 

love 
Fragrant   and  warm   from   Heaven's   own  tropic 

blew; 

Beside  us  what  glad  comrades  smiled  and  strove  ! 
Beyond  us  what  dim  visions  rose  to  view  ! 
With  thee,  dear  Master,  through  that  morning 

land 

We  journeyed  happy  ;  thine  the  guiding  hand, 
Thine  the  far-looking  eye,  the  dauntless  smile  ; 
Thy  lofty  song  of  hope  did  the  long  march  be- 
guile. 

Now  scattered  wide  and  lost  to  loving  sight 
The  gallant  train 
That  heard  thy  strain ! 

'  T  is  May  no  longer,  —  shadows  of  the  night 
Beset  the  downward  path,  thy  light  withdrawn, — 
And  with  thee  vanished  that  perpetual  dawn 
257 


FRANKLIN  BENJAMIN  SANBORN 

Of  which  thou  wert  the  harbinger  and  seer. 

Yet   courage !    comrades,  —  though   no   more   we 

hear 

Each  other's  voices,  lost  within  this  cloud 
That  Time  and  Chance  about  our  way  have  cast,  — 
Still  his  brave  music  haunts  the  hearkening  ear, 
As  'mid  bold  cliffs  and  dewy  passes  of  the  Past 
Be  that  our  countersign  !  for  chanting  loud, 
His  magic  song,  though  far  apart  we  go, 
Best  shall  we  thus  discern  both  friend  and  foe. 


ARS  POETICA  ET  HUMANA 

DOST  thou,  beloved,  see 

That  even  poesy 

Hath  rights  like  thine  and  mine? 
Dost  thou  its  harmonies 
Observe,  and  how  there  lies 

Along  the  builded  line 

The  touch,  the  frequent  ties 

The  muses  love  to  twine  ? 

See,  at  the  very  end 
The  loving  words  must  blend 
In  'cording  rhymes,  and  kiss, 
Their  meaning  not  to  miss, 
Ere  they  onward  flow 
Some  other  mood  to  show. 

So  do  our  hearts  rehearse, 
In  earnest  or  in  play, 

The  self-same  pulse-like  verse, 
And  lips  seal  what  lips  say. 

259 


JOHN  ALBEE 


MUSIC  AND  MEMOKY 

ENCHANTRESS,  touch  no  more  that  strain ! 

I  know  not  what  it  may  contain, 

But  in  my  breast  such  mood  it  wakes 

My  very  spirit  almost  breaks. 

Thoughts  come  from  out  some  hidden  realm 

Whose  dim  memorials  overwhelm, 

Still  bring  not  back  the  things  I  lost,  — 

Still  bringing  all  the  pain  they  cost. 


REMEMBERED  LOVE 

As  two  birds  journeying  from  different  lands 
Rest  in  the  green-leafed  tree,  then  hold  their 
way, 

Each  for  some  other  home  where  fate  commands, 
So  stayed,  so  passed  two  souls  one  blissful  day. 

Now  hope  and  fear  are  dead  —  nor  all,  nor  quite, 
For  oft  in  dreams  returns  to  me  more  sweet, 

Like  distant  music  in  a  summer  night, 

The  love  that  bound  me  captive  at  her  feet. 
260 


EEMEMBEBED  LOVE 

All  passions,  all  desires  return  no  more ; 

The  beauty  and  the  worth  in  her  I  loved 
Remade  the  world,  and  opened  wide  the  door 

To  realms  of  thought  with  calmer  beauty  moved. 


JJoei  i3enton 

THE   POET 

THE  poet's  words  are  winged  with  fire, 
Forever  young  is  his  desire,  — 
Touched  by  some  charm  the  gods  impart, 
Time  writes  no  wrinkles  on  his  heart. 

The  messenger  and  priest  of  truth, 
His  thought  breathes  of  immortal  youth ; 
Though  summer  hours  are  far  away, 
Midsummer  haunts  him  day  by  day. 

The  harsh  fates  do  not  chill  his  soul,  — 
For  him  all  streams  of  splendor  roll ; 
Sweet  hints  come  to  him  from  the  sky,  — 
Birds  teach  him  wisdom  as  they  fly. 


He  gathers  good  in  all  he  meets, 
The  fields  pour  out  for  him  their 
Life  is  excess ;  one  sunset's  glow 
Gives  him  a  bliss  no  others  know. 
262 


THE   WHIPPOORWILL 

Beauty  to  him  is  Paradise  — 
He  never  tires  of  lustrous  eyes ; 
Quaffing  his  joy,  the  world  apart, 
Love  lives  a  summer  in  his  heart. 

His  lands  are  never  bought  or  sold  — 
His  wealth  is  more  to  him  than  gold  ; 
On  the  green  hills,  when  life  is  done, 
He  sleeps  like  fair  Endymion. 


THE  WHIPPOORWILL 

IN  the  summer  nights,  when  the  world's  tumult 

stills, 

I  hear  at  the  wood's  edge  the  whippoorwill's 
Quaint,  plaintive-phrased,  monotonous  refrain, 
Flooding  with  pathos  vale  and  dell  and  plain. 

Silent  until  the  setting  of  the  sun, 

He  sings  when  the  day's  choristry  is  done, 

With  palpitant  burst  of  rhythm  and  iterant  rhyme 

Rich  with  the  redolent  grace  of  summer-time. 

Shy  recluse  of  the  woods  and  shaded  streams, 
Recaller  of  our  life's  youth-haloed  dreams, 


JOEL  BENTON 


Brown  portent  that  securely  baffles  sight, 
Sacred  to  Wonder  and  Mysterious  Night. 

How  alien  to  the  din  of  city  streets 
Are  all  thy  notes  and  twilight-kissed  retreats ! 
That  song  of  rapture,  weird  yet  exquisite, 
"Who  shall  explain  —  who  try  to  fathom  it? 

It  tells  of  bosky  haunts  and  fields  of  peace, 
Of  dew- wet  meadows,  and  the  day's  surcease ; 
Of  happy  homes  beyond  that  fast-closed  door 
Entombing  childhood  which  returns  no  more. 

WELTSCHMERZ 

THE  child-eyed  wonder  with  which  life  began, 
The  prattling  voice  of  joy,  the  heart  of  glee, 

Have  followed  not  the  footsteps  of  the  man  ; 
A  world  more  sorrowful  it  is  that  he 

Must  battle  with,  and  fearlessly  explore : 

Far  fades  the  gleam  of  Life's  once  purpled  sea 

When  Youth  was  ours  —  the  Youth  that  comes 


Those  happy  shores  retreat  which  once  we  knew ; 
The  well-loved  voices,  hushed  and  still  are  they ; 
264 


WELTSCHMEEZ 


Lost  halcyon  years,  with  skies  of  deepest  blue, 
Dear  hearts  that  vanished  some  sad  yesterday 

Leave  our  life's  journey  dark.  Alas,  how  true 
This  deep  World-Sorrow  shadows  all  our  way ! 

Yet  somewhere,  to  some  unknown,  far-off  strand, 
Whose  silver  coast  beyond  the  horizon's  rim 
Gleams  with  sweet  promise,  they   perchance 

have  passed, 
Where  all  is  plain  which  now  seems  dark  and 

dim; 
And  when  we  reach  it  we  shall  understand 

The  mystery  —  the  puzzle  real  at  last  — 
And  find  beyond  these  shadows  and  shed  tears 
The  perfect  joy  of  Heaven's  untarnished  years. 


265 


Augusta  iEaoper  ISrtetol 

A   SUMMEE  MORNING   HOUR  WITH 
NATURE 

THE  Night  has  gathered  up  her  moonlit  fringes, 

And  curtains  gray, 
And  orient  gates,  that  move  on  silver  hinges, 

Let  in  the  day. 

The  morning  sun  his  golden  eye-lash  raises 

O'er  eastern  hills ; 
The  happy  summer  bird,  with  matin  praises 

The  thicket  fills. 

And  Nature's  dress,  with  softly  tinted  roses, 

And  lilies  wrought, 
Through  all  its  varied  unity  discloses 

God's  perfect  thought. 

Great  Nature  !  hand  in  hand  with  her  I  fravel 
Adown  the  mead, 


AN  HOUK  WITH  NATURE 

And  half  her  precious  mysteries  unravel, 
Her  scripture  read. 

And  while  the  soft  wind  lifts  her  tinted  pages, 

And  turns  them  o'er, 
My  heart  goes  back  to  one  in  bygone  ages 

Who  loved  her  lore, 

And  symbols  used  of  harvest  field,  and  fountain, 

And  breezy  air ; 
Who  sought  the  sacred  silence  of  the  mountain, 

For  secret  prayer. 

Oh  drop,  my  soul,  the  burden  that  oppresses, 

And  cares  that  rule, 
That  I  may  prove  the  whispering  wildernesses 

Heaven's  vestibule  I 

For  I  can  hear,  despite  material  warden 

And  earthly  locks, 

A  still  small  voice ;  and  know  that  through  His 
garden 

The  Father  walks. 

The  fragrant  lips  of  dewy  flowers  that  glisten 
Along  the  sward, 

267 


AUGUSTA  COOPER  BBISTOL 

Are  whispering  to  my  spirit  as  I  listen, 
"  It  is  the  Lord." 

And  forest  monarchs  tell  by  reverent  gesture 

And  solemn  sigh, 
That  the  veiled  splendor  of  His  awful  vesture 

Is  passing  by. 

The  billows  witness  Him.     No  more  they  darkle, 

But  leap  to  lave 
The  silent  marching  feet,  that  leave  a  sparkle 

Along  the  wave. 

And  sweet  aromas,  fresher  and  intenser, 

The  gales  refine ; 
The  odor  floating  from  the  lily's  censer 

Is  breath  divine. 

Thus  Nature,  Heaven's  voice,  yields  precious  wit- 
ness, 

And  large  reply, 
To  him  who  comes  to  her  with  inward  fitness 

Of  harmony. 


268 


SOMEWHERE 


SOMEWHERE 

SOMEWHERE  await  the  treasures  we  have  strewn, 
Which  idle  hands  and  feet  have  rudely  shat- 
tered; 

And  tenderest  love  shall  gather  as  its  own 
The  pearls  thus  scattered. 

Somewhere  the  tears  of  broken-hearted  trust, 

Of  patient  sacrifice  and  self-submission, 
Shall  form  the  rainbow  promise  of  a  just 
And  full  fruition. 

Somewhere  the  narrow  stepping-stones  we  tread  — 

The  steep  and  terrible  ascent  of  Duty  — 
Shall  change  to  velvet  terraces,  o'erspread 
With  emerald  beauty. 

Somewhere  the  doubtful  seed  that  we  have  sown 

Shall  well  disprove  a  cold,  uncertain  rootage, 
And  vindicate  the  hope  we  now  disown 
By  fairest  fruitage. 


AUGUSTA   COOPEE  BRISTOL 

Somewhere  our  human  effort  of  to-day, 

The  faltering  outcome  of  a  pure  intention, 
Eternity  shall  hold  as  brave  assay 
And  true  ascension. 

O  Universal  Soul !     The  finite  range 

Of  earth  and  time   may  dwarf   our  high  en- 
deavor, 

Yet  Life  is  victory,  through  the  evolving  change 
Of  thy  Forever. 


THE  OLD  SONG  AND  THE  NEW 

THE    OLD 

CLOSE  are  the  shadows  and  dim  is  the  day ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
Twilight  encloseth  the  finite  for  aye ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
Outward  Humanity  leaneth  in  vain, 
Straining  her  vision  a  witness  to  gain 
Of  the  background  being  —  the  infinite  plain ;  - 

God  is  away  from  the  world  I 

He  hath  no  part  in  the  voices  of  earth ; 
God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
270 


THE  OLD  SONG  AND  THE  NEW 

Man  hath  appraised  them,  and  noted  their  worth; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
Gather  the  sounds  of  the  sea  and  the  air, 
Harmonies  subtle,  and  symphonies  rare,  — 
Still  not  a  whisper  from  Deity  there ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 

Vainly  we  seek  with  the  eye  and  the  ear ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 
His  vesture  and  footprints  no  longer  appear ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
He  cometh  no  more  with  a  daily  accost 
To  the  finite  ;  the  garden  is  cold  with  the  frost, 
And  the  echoes  of  Eden  forever  are  lost : 

God  is  away  from  the  world. 

Heaven  hath  no  actual  commerce  with  man ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
He  hath  perfected  His  purpose  and  plan ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 
Creation  is  finished ;  He  sitteth  apart, 
In  a  glory  too  dread  for  the  scene  of  His  art ; 
Too  piercingly  pure  for  Humanity's  heart ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 

Truth  is  not  ours,  in  its  absolute  ray ;  — 
God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
271 


AUGUSTA  COOPEB  BKISTOL 

Only  poor  gleams  of  the  actual  day ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
We  reach  not  the  substance ;  we  touch  but  the 

screen ; 

Our  hope  is  the  victim  that 's  lifted  between 
The  real  and  the  seeming,  the  Christ-Nazarene ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 

THE   NEW 

Heirs  of  the  Morning,  we  walk  in  the  light ; 

God  is  forever  with  man ! 
A  day  that  hath  never  a  noon  or  a  night ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
A  day  without  limit,  whose  glories  unfold 
The  statutes  that  time  and  eternity  hold ; 
An  endless  becoming  its  measure  and  mould ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

He  sitteth  a  guest  in  Humanity's  soul ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Life  leadeth  on  to  an  infinite  goal ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Inward,  not  outward,  is  Deity's  shrine, 
The  Presence  Eternal  —  the  Spirit  Divine, 
And  being  becomes  immortality's  sign  ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
272 


THE  OLD  SONG  AND  THE  NEW 

Truth  is  not  veiled  to  mortality's  eye ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
We  have  a  witness  on  which  to  rely ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
The  word  is  eternal,  and  cometh  to  all ; 
And  the  inward  rebuke,  and  the  heart's  ceaseless  call, 
Are  tones  from  the  lips  of  the  Father  that  fall ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Of  all  that  is  real  the  human  hath  part ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Our  roots  are  the  veins  of  the  Infinite  Heart ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
The  Christ  liveth  ever  in  creature  disguise  ; 
The  Logos  by  which  every  soul  shall  arise 
The  gospel  and  glory  of  self -sacrifice ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Sing,  little  bluebird,  the  message  ye  bring ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Cleave  the  soft  air  with  a  rapturous  wing ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Warble  the  story  to  forest  and  rill, 
Sweep  up  the  valley  and  bear  to  the  hill 
The  sacred  refrain  of  your  passionate  trill ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
273 


AUGUSTA  COOPER  BBISTOL 

Open  bright  roses,  and  blossom  the  thought ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  I 
Precious  the  meaning  your  beauty  hath  wrought ; 

God  is  forever  with  man ! 
Spread  out  the  sweet  revelation  of  bloom, 
Lift  and  release  from  an  odorous  tomb, 
The  secret  embalmed  in  a  honeyed  perfume ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Dance,  happy  billow,  and  say  to  the  shore, 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Echo,  sea-caverns,  the  truth  evermore, 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Bear  on,  Creation,  the  symbol  and  sign, 
That  being  unfolds  in  an  aura  divine, 
The  soul  moveth  on  in  an  infinite  line ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 


AET-SEKVICE 

I  WANDERED  with  an  earnest  heart 

Among  the  quarried  depths  of  Thought, 
And  kindled  by  the  poet's  art, 
I  deftly  wrought. 
274 


ART-SERVICE 


I  wrought  for  Beauty ;  and  the  world 

Grew  very  green  and  smooth  for  me, 
And  blossom-banners  hung  unfurled 
On  every  tree. 

Upon  my  heated  forehead  lay 

The  cooling  laurel,  and  my  feet 
Crushed  honeyed  fragrance  out,  the  way 
Had  grown  so  sweet. 

And  praise  was  servant  of  the  ear, 

And  love  dropped  kisses  on  the  cheek, 
And  smiled  a  passion-thought  too  dear 
For  tongue  to  speak. 

But  one  day  the  ideal  Good 

Baptized  me  with  immortal  youth; 
And  in  sublimity  of  mood 
I  wrought  for  Truth. 

Oh  then,  instead  of  laurel  crown 

The  world  entwined  a  thorny  band, 
And  on  my  forehead  pressed  it  down 
With  heavy  hand. 

And  looks  that  used  to  warm  me,  froze ; 
I  lost  the  cheer,  the  odor  sweet, 
275 


AUGUSTA  COOPER  BRISTOL 

The  path  of  velvet ;  glaciers  rose 
Before  my  feet. 

Yet  Truth  the  more  divinely  shone, 
As  onward  still  I  sought  to  press", 
And  gloriously  proved  her  own 
Almightiness. 

For  girded  in  her  cuirass  strong, 

And  lifted  by  her  matchless  arm, 
Above  the  frozen  peak  of  Wrong, 
In  warmth  and  calm, 

I  sit,  and  white  thoughts,  lily  pure, 

Like  angels,  close  my  heart  around, 
And  fold  me  gently  in,  secure 
From  cold  or  wound. 

O  kindred  poet-soul,  whose  lays 

Of  sweet  worcl-music  set  in  line 
Are  fashioned  for  the  world's  poor  praise 
And  Beauty's  shrine,  — 

The  martyr's  spirit-wing  is  strong ! 

Choose  thou  a  pinion  that  can  rise 
With  Truth's  full  freight  of  clarion-song 
And  sweep  the  skies  ! 
276 


ART-SERVICE 


Then  shall  the  thoughts  that  in  thee  burn, 

Flame-reaching,  touch  the  thought  divine ; 
And  man  may  scoff,  a  world  may  spurn, 
But  Heaven  is  thine. 


277 


(ftallentier  ISracfcett 

BEETHOVEN 


Lo,  the  strong  eagle,  through  the  storm  and  night, 

Up-winging  to  the  light, 
Sea-bound,  as  fitful  rose  along  the  shore 

The  low,  deep  roar 
Of  rising  wind,  and  many-  voiced,  the  sea 

Moaned  answer  fitfully. 

Adown  from  cloud  to  cloud  the  drooping  sun 

Drew  near  the  horizon  dun  ; 
A  ray  of  sunshine,  then  a  shade  again, 

Till  over  all  the  unquiet  main 
Came  down  the  doubtful  shadow  round  his  flight, 

And  deepened  into  night. 

Dimly  white-crested,  lashing  waves  rose  high 

Against  the  stormy  sky  ; 
Full  on  his  breast  the  angry  blasts  drove  keen 

With  scarce  a  breath  between, 
And  hurrying  clouds  but  let  a  star  shine  through, 

To  vanish  quickly  too. 
278 


BEETHOVEN 


Till  down  upon  the  raging  sea,  the  rain, 

Like  pain  to  quiet  pain, 
Came,  driven  by  the  scourging  blasts  of  wind, 

Still  following  close  behind, 
And  mocking  waves  plucked  at  his  onward  flight 

Through  tempest  and  through  night. 

Yet  still  the  beat  of  his  strong  pinions  gave, 
Through  dashing  wind  and  wave, 

Their  measure  to  the  slow-paced  hours,  and  still 
Do  find  all  powers  of  ill ; 

Alone,  the  patient  pinions  cleft  the  air, 
Nor  drooped  once  in  despair. 

So  hour  by  hour  the  long  night  wore  away, 

And  blossomed  into  day. 
At  last !  at  last !     The  morning  breaks  at  last ! 

The  night  and  storm  are  past ; 
On  broad-browed  headlands  sleeps  the  sunlight  free, 

And  there  is  no  more  sea ! 

At  last  upon  the  bravely  throbbing  breast, 

The  cleaving  wings  may  rest. 
O  tireless  pinions  !  Ye  have  won  the  light 

Through  tempest  and  through  night. 
O'er  all  the  waves  of  time  for  us  your  echoes  beat 

In  music  strong  and  sweet. 
279 


ANNA  CALLENDEE  BRACKETT 


FOUR  WHITE   LILIES 

'T  WAS  a  vision,  a  dream  of  the  night, 
When  deep  sleep  falleth  on  man  ; 

Out  of  the  shadowless  darkness  it  glided 
Into  shadowless  darkness  again. 

Afloat  upon  silentest  waters 

On  the  smooth,  slow  waves  I  lay, 

And  through  them  I  saw,  but  dimly, 
The  round  white  lilies  sway. 

Then  I  reached  down  my  careful  fingers, 

And  drew  them,  one  by  one, 
Out  of  the  smoky  water 

Up  into  the  shine  of  the  sun. 

White-bosomed  and  golden-hearted, 
And  sweet  —  for  I  tried,  to  see,  — 

I  drew  them  by  slippery  stemlets, 
One  by  one,  up  to  me. 

Then  I  turned  on  my  side,  and  broke  them, 
Stem  by  stem,  with  my  teeth, 
280 


DENIAL 


But  the  broad  green  leaves  I  left  floating 
In  the  water  underneath. 

I  blew  open  the  pink-white  petals 

To  the  yellow-dusted  core, 
And  I  counted  them  as  I  held  them, 

One,  and  two,  and  three,  and  four. 

Then  they  drooped  their  heads  as  weary 
Till  the  cool  petals  touched  my  hand  — 

Did  I  drop  them  into  the  water  ? 
Did  I  ever  float  to  land  ?  — 

Who  knows  ?     Out  of  shadowless  darkness 
To  shadowless  darkness  they  grew, 

But  they  haunt  me,  my  four  white  lilies 
Till  I  gather  them  anew. 


DENIAL 

THE  two  best  gifts  in  all  the  perfect  world 

Lie  in  two  close-shut  hands  ; 
The  hands  rest  even  on  the  outstretched  knees 
Like  those  stone  forms  the  'wildered  traveller  sees 

In  dreamy  Eastern  lands. 


ANNA  CALLENDER  BRACKETT 

I  reach  to  grasp  :  but  lo !  that  hand  withdraws,  — 

The  other  forward  glides  ; 
The  silent  gesture  says  :  "  This  is  for  thee, 
Take  now  and  wait  not  ever,  listlessly, 

For  changing  times  and  tides." 

I  take  —  Thou  canst  not  say  I  took  it  not ! 

The  record  readeth  fair. 
I  take  and  use,  and  come  again  to  crave, 
With  weary  hands  and  feet,  but  spirit  brave  — 

The  same  thing  lieth  there. 

So  many  times !  ah  me  !  so  many  times  ! 

The  same  hand  gives  the  gift ; 
And  must  I,  till  the  evening  shadows  grow, 
Still  kneel  before  an  everlasting  No, 

To  see  the  other  lift  ? 

I  ask  for  bread  ;  Thou  givest  me  a  stone  ; 

Oh,  give  the  other  now ! 
Thou  knowest,  Thou,  the  spirit's  bitter  need, 
The  day  grows  sultry  as  I  come  to  plead 

With  dust  on  hand  and  brow. 

Ah  fool !     Is  he  not  greater  than  thy  heart  ? 
His  eyes  are  kindest  still. 
282 


COMPREHENSION 


And  seeing  all,  He  surely  knoweth  best ; 
Oh,  if  no  other,  know  the  perfect  rest 
Of  yielding  to  His  will. 

Perchance  —  He  knows  —  canst   thou  not  trust 
His  love? 

For  no  expectant  eyes 
Of  something  other,  full  of  wild  desire 
Can  watch  the  burning  of  the  altar  fire 

Of  daily  sacrifice. 


COMPREHENSION 

FOOT  surer  than  his,  crossing  o'er 

The  rapid  river  shore  to  shore 

While  down  the  stream  the  ice-floes  roar, 

Hold  closer  than  the  bird's  that  sings 
Unmindful  how  the  storm-wind  swings 
The  slender  twig  to  which  he  clings,  — 

Touch  finer  far  than  that  so  fine 
Upon  the  spider's  silvery  line 
He  crosses  sure  through  sun  and  shine,  — 
283 


ANNA  CALLENDEE  BRACKETT 

O  surer,  closer,  finer  yet, 

Must  be  the  thought  that  strives  to  get 

And  hold  the  Truth  inviolate. 

For  narrow  as  the  bridge  did  rise 
Before  the  prophet's  wondering  eyes, 
Runs  still  the  path  to  Paradise. 

On  either  side  we  seize  despair  ; 
We  prison  fast  the  sunlit  air, 
And  lo !  '  tis  darkness  that  is  there ! 

And  so  we  miss,  and  grasp,  and  lose, 
While  Thought  its  shadow  still  pursues, 
Nor  knows  its  work  is  not  to  choose  ; 

For  only  where  the  one  is  twain, 
And  where  the  two  are  one  again, 
Will  Truth  no  more  be  sought  in  vain. 


284 


J^atute 

GODWAKD 


THOU  Soul  that  overlightest  mine  ! 
That  with  Thy  solar  blaze  divine 
Quenchest  the  firefly's  timid  shine  ! 

Shall  Thy  vast  lustre  be  my  night  ? 

A  spark  burns  here,  —  and  light  is  light  ; 

I  am  of  Thee,  O  Infinite  ! 

For  Thou  and  I  are  next  of  kin  ; 
The  pulses  that  are  strong  within, 
From  the  deep  Infinite  heart  begin. 

Thou  art  my  All,  —  but  what  am  I  ? 
A  flickering  hope,  a  passionate  sigh 
Exhaled  upon  the  kindred  sky. 

Ah,  not  in  vain  the  cry  shall  be  ! 
In  these  poor  shoots  of  flame  I  see 
A  burning  effluence  from  Thee  ; 


FEANCIS  ELLINGWOOD  ABBOT 

And  tending  towards  Thee  ever  higher, 
Their  hearts  shall  evermore  aspire 
To  mix  with  Thee,  Empyreal  Fire  ! 


MATINS 

SLOWLY  the  sun  climbs  up  the  amber  east, 

And  from  her  mountain-altars  broad 
Earth  rolls  aloft  pale  wreaths  of  curling  mist,  — 
Incense  to  God. 

Hark  to  the  anthem  of  the  low-voiced  sea  ! 

Along  the  distant-dying  strand 
Whisper  the  billowy  choir  their  symphony, 
Vast,  deep,  and  grand. 

Through  his  wild  forest-harp  of  piny  strings 
Soft  breathes  the  wind  melodious  strains, 
And  piping  birds  pour  forth  their  jargonings 
In  leafy  fanes. 

Earth,  sea  and  air  their  sweetest  notes  employ 

To  hymn  thy  praise,  O  Holy  One  ! 
And  chant  perpetual  songs  of  grateful  joy 
Before  thy  throne. 


A  BIRTH-DAY  PRAYER 

But  my  mute  awe  can  find  no  voice  or  tongue  — 

Silent  the  waves  of  worship  roll ; 
Yet  poor,  discordant,  weak,  Thou  hear'st  a  song 
Deep  in  my  soul 

A  BIRTH-DAY  PRAYER 

ART  Thou  the  Life  ? 

To  Thee,  then,  do  I  owe  each  beat  and  breath, 
And  wait  Thy  ordering  of  the  hour  of  death, 

In  peace  or  strife. 

Art  Thou  the  Light? 

To  Thee,  then,  in  the  sunshine  or  the  cloud, 
Or  in  my  chamber  lone  or  in  the  crowd, 

I  lift  my  sight. 

Art  Thou  the  Truth? 
To  Thee,  then,  loved  and  craved  and  sought  of 

yore, 
I  consecrate  my  manhood  o'er  and  o'er, 

As  once  my  youth. 

Art  Thou  the  Strong? 

To  Thee,  then,  though  the  air  is  thick  with  night, 
I  trust  the  seeming  unprotected  Right, 

And  leave  the  Wrong. 
287 


FRANCIS  ELLINGWOOD  ABBOT 

Art  Thou  the  Wise? 

To  Thee,  then,  do  I  bring  each  useless  care, 
And  bid  my  soul  unsay  her  idle  prayer, 

And  hush  her  cries. 

Art  Thou  the  Good? 

To  Thee,  then,  with  a  thirsting  heart  I  turn, 
And  stand,  and  at  Thy  fountain  hold  my  urn, 

As  aye  I  stood. 

Forgive  the  call ! 

I  cannot  shut  Thee  from  my  sense  or  soul, 
I  cannot  lose  me  in  thy  boundless  whole,  — 

For  Thou  art  All ! 


TOjite 
NIKVANA 


ALONG  the  scholar's  glowing  page 
I  read  the  Orient  thinker's  dream 
Of  things  that  are  not  what  they  seem, 

Of  mystic  chant  and  Soma's  rage. 

The  sunlight  flooding  all  the  room 
To  me  again  was  Indra's  smile, 
And  on  the  hearth  the  blazing  pile 

For  Agni's  sake  did  fret  and  fume. 

Yet  most  I  read  of  who  aspire 
To  win  Nirvana's  deep  repose,  — 
Of  that  long  way  the  spirit  goes 

To  reach  the  absence  of  desire. 

But  through  the  music  of  my  book 
Another  music  smote  my  ear,  — 
A  tinkle  silver-sweet  and  clear,  — 

The  babble  of  the  mountain-brook. 


JOHN  WHITE  CHADWICK 

"  Oh !  leave,"  it  said,  "  your  ancient  seers  ; 

Come  out  into  the  woods  with  me ; 

Behold  an  older  mystery 
Than  Buddhist's  hope  or  Brahman's  fears !  " 

The  voice  so  sweet  I  could  but  hear. 
I  sallied  forth  with  staff  in  hand, 
Where,  mile  on  mile,  the  mountain  land 

Was  radiant  with  the  dying  year. 

I  heard  the  startled  partridge  whirr, 
And  crinkling  through  the  tender  grass 
I  saw  the  striped  adder  pass, 

Where  dropped  the  chestnut's  prickly  burr. 

I  saw  the  miracle  of  life 

From  death  upspringing  evermore  ; 

The  fallen  tree  a  forest  bore 
Of  tiny  forms  with  beauty  rife. 

I  gathered  mosses  rare  and  sweet, 

The  acorn  in  its  carven  cup  ; 

'Mid  heaps  of  leaves,  wind-gathered  up, 
I  trod  with  half-remorseful  feet. 

The  maple's  blush  I  made  my  own, 
The  sumac's  crimson  splendor  bold, 
290 


NIKVANA 


The  poplar's  hue  of  paly  gold, 
The  faded  chestnut,  crisp  and  brown. 

I  climbed  the  mountain's  shaggy  crest, 
Where  masses  huge  of  molten  rock, 
After  long  years  of  pain  and  shock, 

Fern-covered,  from  their  wanderings  rest. 

Far,  far  below  the  valley  spread 
Its  rich,  roof-dotted,  wide  expanse ; 
And  further  still  the  sunlight's  dance 

The  amorous  river  gayly  led. 

But  still,  with  all  I  heard  or  saw 

There  mingled  thoughts  of  that  old  time, 
And  that  enchanted  Eastern  clime 

Where  Buddha  gave  his  mystic  law,  — 

Till,  wearied  with  the  lengthy  way, 
I  found  a  spot  where  all  was  still, 
Just  as  the  sun  behind  the  hill 

Was  making  bright  the  parting  day. 

On  either  side  the  mountains  stood, 
Masses  of  color  rich  and  warm  ; 
And  over  them,  in  giant  form, 

The  rosy  moon  serenely  glowed. 
291 


JOHN   WHITE   CHADWICK 

My  heart  was  full  as  it  could  hold  ; 

The  Buddha's  paradise  was  mine  ; 

My  mountain-nook  its  inmost  shrine, 
The  fretted  sky  its  roof  of  gold. 

Nirvana's  peace  my  soul  had  found,  — 
Absence  complete  of  all  desire,  — 
While  the  great  moon  was  mounting  higher, 

And  deeper  quiet  breathed  around. 

A  SONG  OF  TRUST 

O  LOVE  Divine,  of  all  that  is 

The  sweetest  still  and  best, 
Fain  would  I  come  and  rest  to-night 

Upon  thy  sheltering  breast. 

As  tired  of  sin  as  any  child 

Was  ever  tired  of  play, 
When  evening's  hush  has  folded  in 

The  noises  of  the  day  ; 

When  just  for  very  weariness 

The  little  one  will  creep 
Into  the  arms  that  have  no  joy 

Like  holding  him  in  sleep ; 
292 


A  SONG  OF  TRUST 


And  looking  upward  to  Thy  face, 

So  gentle,  sweet,  and  strong 
In  all  its  looks  for  those  who  love, 

So  pitiful  of  wrong. 

I  pray  Thee  turn  me  not  away, 

For,  sinful  though  I  be, 
Thou  knowest  every  thing  I  need 

And  all  my  need  of  Thee. 

And  yet  the  spirit  in  my  heart 
Says,  Wherefore  should  I  pray 

That  Thou  shouldst  seek  me  with  Thy  love, 
Since  Thou  dost  seek  alway  ? 

And  dost  not  even  wait  until 

I  urge  my  steps  to  Thee ; 
But  in  the  darkness  of  my  life 

Art  coming  still  to  me. 

I  pray  not,  then,  because  I  would ; 

I  pray  because  I  must ; 
There  is  no  meaning  in  my  prayer 

But  thankfulness  and  trust. 

I  would  not  have  Thee  otherwise 
Than  what  Thou  ever  art ; 


JOHN  WHITE   CHADWICK 

Be  still  Thyself,  and  then  I  know 
We  cannot  live  apart. 

But  still  Thy  love  will  beckon  me, 
And  still  Thy  strength  will  come, 

In  many  ways  to  bear  me  up 
And  bring  me  to  my  home. 

And  Thou  wilt  hear  the  thought  I  mean, 

And  not  the  words  I  say ; 
Wilt  hear  the  thanks  among  the  words 

That  only  seem  to  pray ; 

As  if  Thou  wert  not  always  good, 

As  if  Thy  loving  care 
Could  even  miss  me  in  the  midst 

Of  this  Thy  temple  fair. 

If  ever  I  have  doubted  Thee, 

How  can  I  any  more, 
So  quick  to-night  my  tossing  bark 

Has  reached  the  happy  shore  ; 

And,  even  while  it  sighed,  my  heart 

Has  sung  itself  to  rest, 
O  Love  Divine,  forever  near, 

Upon  Thy  sheltering  breast  I 
294 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 


AULD  LANG   SYNE 

IT  singeth  low  in  every  heart, 

We  hear  it  each  and  all,  — 
A  song  of  those  who  answer  not, 

However  we  may  call ; 
They  throng  the  silence  of  the  breast, 

We  see  them  as  of  yore,  — 
The  kind,  the  brave,  the  true,  the  sweet, 

Who  walk  with  us  no  more. 

'T  is  hard  to  take  the  burden  up, 

When  these  have  laid  it  down  ; 
They  brightened  all  the  joy  of  life, 

They  softened  every  frown ; 
But  oh,  't  is  good  to  think  of  them, 

When  we  are  troubled  sore ! 
Thanks  be  to  God  that  such  have  been, 

Although  they  are  no  more  ! 

More  home-like  seems  the  vast  unknown, 
Since  they  have  entered  there  ; 

To  follow  them  were  not  so  hard, 
Wherever  they  may  fare  ; 
295 


JOHN   WHITE   CHADWICK 

They  cannot  be  where  God  is  not, 

On  any  sea  or  shore ; 
Whate'er  betides,  Thy  love  abides, 

Our  God,  for  evermore. 


Wltlliam  fanning  (Gannett 

"WHO  WERT  AND  ART  AND  EVER- 
MORE SHALT  BE" 

BRING,  O  Morn,  thy  music !     Bring,  O  Night,  thy 

hushes ! 
Oceans,  laugh  the  rapture  to  the  storm-winds 

coursing  free ! 

Suns  and  stars  are  singing,  Thou  art  Creator, 
Who  wert,  and  art,  and  evermore  shalt  be ! 

Life  and  Death,  thy  creatures,  praise  thee,  Mighty 

Giver! 
Praise  and  prayer  are  rising  in  thy  beast  and 

bird  and  tree : 

Lo!  they  praise  and  vanish,  vanish  at  thy  bid- 
ding,— 
Who  wert,  and  art,  and  evermore  shalt  be  ! 

Light  us !  lead  us !  love  us !  cry  thy  groping  na- 
tions, 

Pleading  in  the  thousand  tongues  but  naming 
only  thee, 

297 


WILLIAM  CHANNING   GANNETT 

Weaving  blindly  out  thy  holy,  happy  purpose,  — 
Who  wert,  and  art,  and  evermore  shalt  be ! 

Life  nor  Death  can  part  us,  O  thou  Love  Eter- 
nal, 
Shepherd  of  the  wandering  star  and  souls  that 

wayward  flee ! 

Homeward  draws  the  spirit  to  thy  Spirit  yearn- 
ing,— 
Who  wert,  and  art,  and  evermore  shalt  be ! 


THE   HIGHWAY 

'  Whatever  road  I  take  joins  the  highway  that  leads  to  thee." 

WHEN  the  night  is  still  and  far, 

Watcher  from  the  shadowed  deeps  I 
When  the  morning  breaks  its  bar, 

Life  that  shines  and  wakes  and  leaps ! 
When  old  Bible-verses  glow, 

Starring  all  the  deep  of  thought, 
Till  it  fills  with  quiet  dawn 

From  the  peace  our  years  have  brought,  — 
Sun  within  both  skies,  we  see 
How  all  lights  lead  back  to  thee  ! 
298 


THE  WORD  OF  GOD 


'Cross  the  field  of  daily  work 

Run  the  footpaths,  leading  —  where  ? 
Run  they  east  or  run  they  west, 

One  way  all  the  workers  fare. 
Every  awful  thing  of  earth,  — 

Sin  and  pain  and  battle-noise  ; 
Every  dear  thing,  —  baby's  birth, 

Faces,  flowers,  or  lovers'  joys,  — 
Is  a  wicket-gate,  where  we 
Join  the  great  highway  to  thee  ! 

Restless,  restless,  speed  we  on,  — 

Whither  in  the  vast  unknown  ? 
Not  to  you  and  not  to  me 

Are  the  sealed  orders  shown  : 
But  the  Hand  that  built  the  road, 

And  the  Light  that  leads  the  feet, 
And  this  inward  restlessness, 

Are  such  invitation  sweet, 
That  where  I  no  longer  see, 
Highway  still  must  lead  to  thee  ! 

THE  WORD  OF  GOD 

IT  sounds  along  the  ages, 
Soul  answering  to  soul ; 


WILLIAM    CHANNING    GANNETT 

It  kindles  on  the  pages 

Of  every  Bible  scroll ; 
The  psalmists  heard  and  sang  it, 

From  martyr-lips  it  broke, 
And  prophet-tongues  outrang  it 

Till  sleeping  nations  woke. 

From  Sinai's  cliffs  it  echoed, 

It  breathed  from  Buddha's  tree, 
It  charmed  in  Athens'  market, 

It  gladdened  Galilee ; 
The  hammer-stroke  of  Luther, 

The  Pilgrims'  seaside  prayer, 
The  oracles  of  Concord, 

One  holy  Word  declare. 

It  dates  each  new  ideal,  — 

Itself  it  knows  not  time  : 
Man's  laws  but  catch  the  music 

Of  its  eternal  chime. 
It  calls  —  and  lo,  new  Justice ! 

It  speaks  —  and  lo,  new  Truth  ! 
In  ever  nobler  stature 

And  unexhausted  youth. 

300 


LISTENING  FOR  GOD 

It  everywhere  arriveth ; 

Recks  not  of  small  and  great ; 
It  shapes  the  unborn  atom, 

It  tells  the  sun  its  fate. 
The  wingbeat  of  archangel 

Its  boundary  never  nears : 
Forever  on  it  soundeth 

The  music  of  the  spheres ! 


LISTENING  FOR  GOD 

I  HEAK  it  often  in  the  dark, 

I  hear  it  in  the  light,  — 
Where  is  the  voice  that  calls  to  me 

With  such  a  quiet  might  ? 
It  seems  but  echo  to  my  thought, 

And  yet  beyond  the  stars ; 
It  seems  a  heart-beat  in  a  hush, 

And  yet  the  planet  jars ! 

O,  may  it  be  that  far  within 
My  inmost  soul  there  lies 

A  spirit-sky,  that  opens  with 
Those  voices  of  surprise  ? 

301 


WILLIAM   CHANNING   GANNETT 

And  can  it  be,  by  night  and  day, 

That  firmament  serene 
Is  just  the  heaven  where  God  himself, 

The  Father,  dwells,  unseen? 

O  God,  within,  so  close  to  me 

That  every  thought  is  plain, 
Be  judge,  be  friend,  be  Father  stiU, 

And  in  thy  heaven  reign  ! 
Thy  heaven  is  mine,  —  my  very  soul ! 

Thy  words  are  sweet  and  strong, 
They  fill  my  inward  silences 

With  music  and  with  song. 

They  send  me  challenges  to  right 

And  loud  rebuke  my  ill ; 
They  ring  my  bells  of  victory, 

They  breathe  my  «  Peace,  be  still ! " 
They  ever  seem  to  say :  My  child, 

Why  seek  me  so  all  day? 
Now  journey  inward  to  thyself, 

And  listen  by  the  way ! 


302 


itft  tLucian 

THE   THOUGHT  OF  GOD 

ONE  thought  I  have,  my  ample  creed, 

So  deep  it  is  and  broad, 
And  equal  to  my  every  need,  — 

It  is  the  thought  of  God. 

Each  morn  unfolds  some  fresh  surprise, 

I  feast  at  life's  full  board ; 
And  rising  in  my  inner  skies 

Shines  forth  the  thought  of  God. 

At  night  my  gladness  is  my  prayer ; 

I  drop  my  daily  load, 
And  every  care  is  pillowed  there 

Upon  the  thought  of  Gpd. 

I  ask  not  far  before  to  see, 
But  take  in  trust  my  road ; 

Life,  death,  and  immortality 
Are  in  my  thought  of  God. 
303 


FREDERICK  LUCIAN  HOSMER 

To  this  their  secret  strength  they  owed 

The  martyr's  path  who  trod  ; 
The  fountains  of  their  patience  flowed 

From  out  their  thought  of  God. 

Be  still  the  light  upon  my  way, 

My  pilgrim  staff  and  rod, 
My  rest  by  night,  my  strength  by  day, 

O  blessed  thought  of  God ! 

THE   MYSTEEY  OF  GOD 

O  THOU,  in  all  thy  might  so  far, 

In  all  thy  love  so  near, 
Beyond  the  range  of  sun  and  star, 

And  yet  beside  us  here,  — 

What  heart  can  comprehend  Thy  name, 
Or  searching,  find  Thee  out, 

Who  art  within  a  quickening  Flame, 
A  Presence  round  about? 

Yet  though  I  know  Thee  but  in  part, 

I  ask  not,  Lord,  for  more  : 
Enough  for  me  to  know  Thou  art, 

To  love  Thee  and  adore. 
304 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  GOD 

O  sweeter  than  aught  else  besides, 

The  tender  mystery 
That  like  a  veil  of  shadow  hides 

The  Light  I  may  not  see ! 

And  dearer  than  all  things  I  know 

Is  childlike  faith  to  me, 
That  makes  the  darkest  way  I  go 

An  open  path  to  Thee. 


305 


NOTES 


NOTES 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.  Born  in  Boston,  May  25, 
1803 ;  died  in  Concord,  Mass.,  April  27, 1885.  He  was 
the  real  leader  of  the  transcendental  movement,  and  in 
his  books  will  be  found  its  best  interpretation.  "  Each 
and  All,"  and  "  The  Rhodora,"  were  first  printed  in 
"  The  Western  Messenger,"  edited  by  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  and  published  in  Louisville,  Ky.,  1839.  With 
"  The  Humble-Bee,"  and  "  Good-bye,  proud  world,"  pub- 
lished in  the  same  journal,  they  were  the  earliest  of  his 
poems  to  appear  in  print.  "  The  Problem  "  was  printed 
in  the  first  number  of  "  The  Dial ;  "  and  in  the  same 
journal  appeared  "  Woodnotes,"  the  concluding  part  of 
which  is  given  here  as  "  The  Eternal  Pan."  "  Fate  " 
was  also  printed  in  "  The  Dial,"  and  is  included,  slightly 
changed,  in  his  poems,  under  the  title  "  Destiny." 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL.  Born  in  Cambridge,  Febru- 
ary 22, 1819  ;  died  there  August  12,  1891.  In  his  early 
life  he  was  largely  influenced  by  transcendentalism,  as 
the  first  volume  of  his  biography  by  Horace  E.  Scudder 
amply  indicates.  The  first  three  sonnets  selected  were 
printed  in  "The  Dial,"  from  which  they  are  taken. 
The  fourth  sonnet,  and  "  Winter,"  appeared  in  "  The 
Present,"  edited  in  New  York  by  Rev.  William  Henry 
309 


NOTES 


Channing,  1843-44.  "  Love  Reflected  in  Nature  "  and 
"  The  Street  "  were  printed  in  "  The  Pioneer,"  edited 
by  Lowell  in  Boston,  1843.  "  Bibliolatres  "  is  from  the 
poem  of  that  name,  and  "  Divine  Teachers  "  is  the  in- 
troductory part  of  "  Rhcecus." 

AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT.  Born  in  Wolcott,  Conn., 
November  29,  1799 ;  died  in  Boston,  March  4,  1888. 
He  was  a  teacher  in  Cheshire,  Boston,  and  Philadelphia ; 
returned  to  Boston,  and  became  widely  known  by  his 
"  Temple  School "  and  its  methods.  Then  resided  in 
Concord  as  the  neighbor  of  Emerson,  held  conversations, 
and  became  famous  for  his  philosophical  teachings.  He 
was  a  contributor  to  "  The  Dial,"  "  The  Western  Mes- 
senger," "  The  Radical,"  and  other  periodicals.  His 
"  Orphic  Sayings,"  and  other  philosophical  writings, 
were  much  discussed,  and  frequently  satirized.  He  was 
the  founder  of  the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy,  and 
his  last  years  were  largely  devoted  to  its  interests  and  to 
the  lectures  he  gave  before  it.  "  Matter "  was  first 
published  in  "  Table-Talk,"  1877  ;  the  other  poems  in 
"Tablets,"  1868;  and  the  sonnets  in  "Sonnets  and 
Canzonets,"  1882. 

HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU.  Born  in  Concord,  Mass., 
July  12, 1817  ;  died  there,  May  6,  1862.  Graduated 
at  Harvard,  1837  ;  taught  school,  and  lectured.  He 
lived  in  Emerson's  family,  and  was  largely  influenced 
by  him.  Was  a  contributor  to  "  The  Dial,"  and  helped 
Emerson  edit  the  last  two  volumes.  He  wrote  for  other 
periodicals,  and  was  for  a  time  tutor  in  the  family  of 
310 


NOTES 


William  Emerson  on  Staten  Island.  From  1843  to 
1845  he  lived  alone  in  a  hut  on  the  shore  of  Walden 
Pond,  in  Concord.  In  1849  he  published  "  A  Week  on 
the  Concord  and  Merrimac  Rivers ; "  and,  in  1854, 
"Walden,  or  Life  in  the  Woods."  His  other  books 
appeared  after  his  death,  edited  by  bis  friends.  "  Stan- 
zas," "  My  Prayer,"  "  Rumors  from  an  JEolian  Harp," 
and  "  Inward  Morning "  were  first  printed  in  "  The 
Dial ; "  "  Conscience,"  "  Lines,"  and  "  My  Life  "  were 
included  in  "  A  Week,"  and  "  Inspiration  "  in  the  volume 
of  "  Miscellanies."  His  poems  have  been  edited  by 
Henry  S.  Salt  and  Frank  B.  Sanborn  under  the  title  of 
"  Poems  of  Nature." 

MABGARET  FULLER.  Born  in  Cambridge,  May  23, 
1810 ;  died  off  Fire  Island  beach,  July  16,  1850.  She 
was  a  teacher  in  Providence,  Boston,  and  elsewhere ; 
held  conversations  in  Boston  that  attracted  attention  to 
her  genius ;  and  was  the  editor  of  "  The  Dial  "  for  the 
first  two  years  of  its  existence.  Then  she  was  con- 
nected with  the  New  York  "  Tribune,"  1844-47.  In 
1847  she  went  to  Europe,  and  the  next  year  married 
the  Marquis  of  Ossoli.  The  vessel  on  which  she  sailed 
for  home  was  lost  off  the  coast  of  Long  Island.  "  Life 
a  Temple  "  was  published  at  the  end  of  "  Life  With- 
out and  Life  Within,"  1859.  "  Encouragement "  was 
printed  in  the  extracts  from  letters  and  journals  that 
were  appended  to  the  edition  of  "  Woman  in  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,"  1855.  "  Sub  Rosa,  Crux "  was  first 
printed  in  "  Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  and  is,  according 
311 


NOTES 


to  Colonel  T.  W.  Higginson,  "  her  most  thoughtful  and 
artistic  poem ;  almost  the  only  one  of  hers  to  which  the 
last  epithet  could  be  applied,  if,  indeed,  it  be  applicable 
here.  It  is  on  a  theme  which  suited  her  love  of  mystic 
colors  and  symbols  —  the  tradition  of  the  llosicrucians. 
The  modern  theory  is,  however,  that  this  word  did  not 
come  from  the  cross  and  the  rose,  as  she  assumes,  but 
from  the  cross  and  the  dew  (ros)  ;  this  last  substance 
being  then  considered  as  the  most  powerful  solvent  of 
gold,  and  so  used  in  the  effort  to  discover  the  philoso- 
pher's stone."  The  "  Dryad  Song  "  evidently  expresses 
the  faith  that  made  Margaret  Fuller  say,  "  I  know  that 
I  am  immortal." 

CHRISTOPHER  PEARSE  CRAKCH.  Born  in  Alexandria, 
Va.,  March  8,  1813 ;  died  in  Cambridge,  January  20, 
1892.  He  studied  at  Columbian  College  and  Harvard 
Divinity  School,  preached  in  Unitarian  churches  for  a 
short  time  without  settlement,  then  became  a  painter, 
and  lived  in  Paris,  New  York,  and  Cambridge.  He 
wrote  largely  for  periodicals,  and  published  "  Poems," 
1844;  translation  of  the  "^Eneid,"  1872;  "Satan,  a 
Libretto,"  1874 ;  "  The  Bird  and  the  Bell,  and  other 
Poems,"  1875  ;  "  Ariel  and  Caliban,  with  other  Poems," 
1887.  His  "  Gnosis,"  "  Correspondences,"  and  "  The 
Ocean  "  first  appeared  in  "  The  Dial."  In  that  period- 
ical the  title  of  "  Gnosis  "  was  "  Stanzas." 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.  Nephew  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning,  after  whom  he  was  named,  born  in  Boston,  June 
10,  1818 ;  died  in  Concord,  Mass.,  December  23,  1901. 


NOTES 


Most  of  his  life  was  spent  in  Concord.  He  published 
"  Poems,"  1843  ;  second  series,  1847 ;  "  Conversations 
in  Rome  between  an  Artist,  a  Catholic,  and  a  Critic," 
1847;  "Near  Home:  A  Poem,"  1858;  "The  Burial 
of  John  Brown,"  1860  ;  "  The  Wanderer :  A  Colloquial 
Poem,"  1871 ;  "  The  Poet  Naturalist,  with  Memorial 
Verses,"  a  biography  of  Thoreau,  1873;  "Eliot,  A 
Poem,"  1885.  Channing  was  one  of  the  most  frequent 
contributors  of  poetry  to  "  The  Dial,"  from  which  the 
first  poem  is  selected.  The  last  two  are  from  "The 
Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy,"  and  the  others  from 
his  first  two  volumes  of  poems. 

JAMES  FBEEMAN  CLARKE.  Born  in  Hanover,  N.  H., 
April  4, 1810 ;  died  in  Boston,  June  8, 1888.  Graduated 
at  Harvard  and  Divinity  School,  minister  of  Unitarian 
church  in  Louisville,  Ky.,  then  of  Church  of  the  Disciples 
in  Boston,  which  he  organized,  from  1841  to  his  death. 
He  published  many  theological,  historical,  and  biograph- 
ical works.  He  wrote  but  little  poetry,  but,  with  his 
daughter,  published  "  Exotics,"  translations,  mostly  short 
poems  from  the  German,  in  1876.  The  poem  selected 
was  printed  in  "  The  Dial,"  and  is  used  as  a  hymn  in 
many  collections.  "You  do  not  get  a  true  estimate 
of  Clarke,"  said  Dr.  F.  H.  Hedge,  "unless  you  see 
him  as  a  poet.  He  approached  all  subjects  from  the 
poetical  side.  This  poetical  habit  of  looking  at  every- 
thing gave  him  that  fairness  which  you  have  observed. 
The  rest  of  us  have  written  as  if  we  were  philosophers. 
Clarke  always  wrote,  no  matter  on  how  dull  a  subject, 
313 


NOTES 


as  a  poet  writes.  And  though  he  wrote  few  verses,  it 
is  because  he  is  a  poet  that  he  has  done  what  he  has 
done." 

FREDERIC  HENRY  HEDGE.  Born  in  Cambridge, 
December  12,  1805;  died  there,  August  21,  1890. 
Was  settled  over  Unitarian  churches  in  Arlington,  Mass., 
Bangor,  Me.,  Providence,  R.  L,  and  Brookline,  Mass. 
In  1857  he  became  the  professor  of  ecclesiastical  history 
in  the  Harvard  Divinity  School,  and  in  1872  professor 
of  the  German  language  and  literature  in  Harvard 
College.  He  published  "  Reason  in  Religion,"  1865  ; 
"  Ways  of  the  Spirit,"  1877,  and  several  other  works. 
He  was  one  of  the  earliest  Americans  to  study  in  Ger- 
many, and  he  accepted  the  transcendental  philosophy 
with  earnestness.  The  poem  selected  was  printed  in 
"  The  Dial,"  and  has  been  frequently  reprinted  as  "  The 
Idealist."  It  was  suggested  to  him  while  he  was  watch- 
ing the  stars  during  a  sleepless  night  spent  in  a  Bangor 
mail-coach,  was  composed  under  these  circumstances, 
and  written  down  upon  reaching  home. 

JOHN  SULLIVAN  DWIGHT.  Born  in  Boston,  May  13, 
1813 ;  died  there,  September  5,  1893.  Graduated  at 
Harvard  and  Divinity  School,  preached  in  Unitarian 
churches  a  few  years,  was  then  a  member  of  Brook 
Farm,  and  edited  "Dwight's  Journal  of  Music,"  in 
Boston,  from  1852  to  1881.  "  To  no  one  more  than 
to  him,"  wrote  George  William  Curtis,  "  are  we  in- 
debted for  the  intellectual  taste  which  enjoys  the  best 
music.  He  was  the  earliest,  and  one  of  the  best,  of 
314 


NOTES 


our  critics  of  music."  The  first  poem  selected  was 
printed  in  the  first  number  of  "  The  Dial,"  at  the  end 
of  a  paper  on  "  The  Religion  of  Beauty."  The  others 
first  appeared  in  "  The  Harbinger,"  published  at  Brook 
Farm,  of  which  George  Ripley  and  Dwight  were  the 
editors. 

ELIZA  THATBB  CLAPP.  Born  in  Dorchester  (Boston), 
November  13,  1811,  and  died  there,  February  26, 1888. 
She  early  came  under  the  influence  of  Emerson,  and 
contributed  to  "  The  Dial  "  several  poems  at  his  sug- 
gestion. She  published  two  little  books  pervaded  with 
the  spirit  of  transcendentalism,  in  1842  and  1845,  and 
wrote  occasionally  for  periodicals.  She  taught  classes 
of  girls  and  women  in  literature  and  philosophy.  After 
her  death,  in  1888,  was  printed  privately  a  little  vol- 
ume of  her  essays,  letters,  and  poems.  The  first  of 
the  poems  selected,  printed  in  "  The  Dial,"  has  been 
included  in  several  collections  of  hymns  and  attributed 
to  Emerson. 

CHABLES  TIMOTHY  BROOKS.  Born  in  Salem,  June 
20,  1813  ;  died  in  Newport,  June  14, 1883.  Graduated 
at  Harvard  and  Divinity  School,  and  was  settled  over 
the  Unitarian  church  in  Newport  from  1837  to  1873. 
H«  translated  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  and  many  other  poems, 
and  published  sermons  and  original  poems. 

ELLEN  HOOPER.  Born  in  Boston,  February  17, 1812, 
and  died  there,  November  3, 1848.  She  married  Rob- 
ert William  Hooper,  a  Boston  physician,  her  maiden 
name  having  been  Sturgis.  She  was  a  frequent  con- 
315 


NOTES 


tributor  to  "  The  Dial,"  and  an  intimate  friend  of  Mar- 
garet Fuller,  Emerson,  and  other  transcendentalists. 
No  collection  of  her  poems  has  been  published,  but  they 
have  been  printed  on  sheets,  inclosed  in  a  portfolio,  and 
given  to  her  friends.  Most  of  the  poems  selected  ap- 
peared in  "  The  Dial,"  and  the  others  were  printed  in 
"  The  Disciples'  Hymn  Book,"  compiled  by  Rev.  James 
Freeman  Clarke  for  his  church,  and  in  Miss  E.  P.  Pea- 
body's  "^Esthetic  Papers."  Emerson  encouraged  Mrs. 
Hooper  to  write,  and  had  large  expectations  of  her  gen- 
ius. Colonel  T.  W.  Higginson  described  her  as  "  a 
woman  of  genius,"  and  Margaret  Fuller  wrote  of  her 
from  Rome  :  "  I  have  seen  in  Europe  no  woman  more 
gifted  by  nature  than  she." 

CAROLINE  TAPPAN.  Born  in  Boston  in  1818  or 
1819,  and  died  there,  October  20,  1888.  She  was  a 
younger  sister  of  Mrs.  Hooper,  and  they  were  (and  are) 
often  spoken  of  as  "  the  Sturgis  sisters."  She  was  one 
of  Margaret  Fuller's  most  intimate  friends,  and  wrote 
largely  for  "The  Dial,"  under  her  editorship;  wrote 
two  or  three  children's  books ;  lived  for  many  years  at 
Lenox  in  the  summer,  and  in  the  biographies  of  Haw- 
thorne she  is  often  mentioned.  She  was  called  "  the 
American  Bettine,"  probably  because  of  a  poem  she 
printed  in  "  The  Dial."  The  poems  selected  were  pub- 
lished in  that  journal.  It  is  possible  that  the  last  poem 
was  written  by  Mrs.  Hooper. 

CHARLES  ANDERSON  DANA.  Born  in  Hinsdale,  N.  H., 
August  8,  1819  ;  died  in  New  York,  October  17,  1897. 
316 


NOTES 


After  studying  for  a  time  at  Harvard,  he  was  at  Brook 
Farm  nearly  the  whole  period  of  its  existence.  Was 
.  assistant  editor  of  the  "  New  York  Tribune."  In  1868 
he  founded  "  The  Sun"  in  New  York,  of  which  he  was 
the  editor  until  his  death.  He  joined  George  Ripley  in 
editing  the  "  New  American  Cyclopedia,"  and  he  edited 
other  works.  The  first  three  sonnets  appeared  in  "  The 
Dial ;  "  "  Ad  Arma  "  in  "  The  Present ;  "  and  "  The 
Bankrupt"  in  "The  Harbinger,"  published  at  Brook 
Farm.  Other  poems  of  Dana's  were  printed  in  "  The 
Harbinger,"  but  none  of  them  are  as  good  as  those  se- 
lected. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS.  Born  in  Providence, 
R.  I.,  February  24, 1824  ;  died  on  Staten  Island,  August 
31,  1892.  Studied  at  Brook  Farm,  travelled  in  Europe 
and  the  East,  was  connected  with  the  "New  York  Trib- 
une," an  editor  of  "  Putnam's  Monthly,"  edited  "  Easy 
Chair  "  in  "  Harper's  Monthly ; "  and  was  chief  editorial 
writer  in  "  Harper's  Weekly."  Author  of  "  Nile  Notes 
of  a  Howadji,"  1851 ;  "  The  Howadji  in  Syria,"  1852 ; 
"Lotus-Eating,"  1852;  "  Potiphar  Papers,"  1853; 
"Prue  and  I,"  1856;  "Trumps,"  1862;  and  several 
volumes  of  his  essays  and  orations  have  been  published. 
He  wrote  only  a  few  poems,  and  these  have  not  been 
collected. 

JONES  VERY.     Born  in   Salem,  Mass.,  August  28, 

1813 ;  died  there,  May  8, 1880.   Graduated  at  Harvard 

and  Divinity  School,  but  preached  only  occasionally, 

without  being  ordained.     Tutor  at  Harvard  for  a  few 

317 


NOTES 


years,  then  retired  to  Salem,  where  most  of  his  poems 
were  written.  Emerson  edited  his  "  Essays  and  Po- 
ems," in  1839.  During  his  tutorship  he  was  attacked 
with  cerebral  excitement  approaching  monomania,  from 
which  he  never  fully  recovered.  After  his  death  his 
religious  poems  were  edited  by  William  P.  Andrews, 
1883  ;  and  Dr.  J.  F.  Clarke  published  his  complete  po- 
ems and  essays,  1886. 

THEODORE  PARKER.  Born  in  Lexington,  Mass., 
August  24,  1810  ;  died  in  Florence,  Italy,  May  10, 
1860.  He  was  the  great  Unitarian  preacher  in  Boston, 
the  leader  of  the  more  radical  wing  of  that  denomina- 
tion, an  able  lecturer,  a  prominent  reformer.  His  ser- 
mons and  lectures  have  been  published  in  many  volumes. 
He  wrote  but  few  poems,  those  selected  being  among 
the  best.  The  last  has  been  used  in  many  hymn-books, 
with  omission  of  last  two  lines. 

SAMUEL  GRAY  WARD.  Born  in  Boston,  October  3, 
1817,  and  is  now  living  in  Washington.  He  has  been  a 
banker  in  Boston  and  New  York.  In  1840  Ward  pub- 
lished in  Boston  a  volume  of  translations  from  Goethe, 
entitled  "  Essays  on  Art."  He  was  an  intimate  friend 
of  Emerson  in  his  younger  days,  and  Emerson's  letters 
to  him  have  been  edited  by  Professor  Charles  Eliot 
Norton.  Writing  to  Carlyle  in  1843,  Emerson  described 
Ward  as  "  my  friend  and  the  best  man  in  the  city,  and, 
besides  all  his  personal  merits,  a  master  of  all  the  offices 
of  hospitality."  Emerson  included  three  of  Ward's 
poems  in  his  "  Parnassus."  Ward  wrote  several  prose 
318 


NOTES 


articles  for  "  The  Dial,"  and  the  poems  selected  were 
printed  there. 

DAVID  ATWOOD  WASSON.  Born  in  West  Brookville, 
Me,,  May  14,  1823 ;  died  in  West  Medford,  Mass., 
January  21,  1887.  Studied  at  Bowdoin  and  Bangor 
Theological  School,  was  then  settled  over  the  orthodox 
Congregational  church  in  Groveland,  Mass.,  became  lib- 
eral, and  an  independent  society  was  organized  for  him. 
In  1865-66  was  minister  of  the  church  formed  by  The- 
odore Parker  in  Boston.  For  some  years  he  had  a  po- 
sition in  the  Boston  Custom  House,  resided  for  a  time 
in  Germany,  and  then  lived  at  West  Medford,  near 
Boston.  He  was  a  brilliant  writer  and  lecturer.  His 
essays,  with  memoir,  were  edited  by  0.  B.  Frothingham, 
1888 ;  and  his  poems  by  Mrs.  Ednah  D.  Cheney,  1888. 
"  All 's  Well "  and  "  Seen  and  Unseen  "  were  contrib- 
uted to  the  early  volumes  of  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly," 
and  the  other  poems  selected  appeared  in  "  The  Radi- 
cal." The  first  line  of  "  All 's  Well "  is  given  as  it  was 
originally  printed,  and  as  it  appears  in  the  collected 
poems,  edited  by  Mrs.  Cheney.  She  says  of  this  poem : 
"  Written  at  sea,  fifty  days  out,  twelve  hundred  miles 
from  the  American  shore.  The  long,  tedious  voyage, 
without  the  hoped-for  benefit  to  his  health,  could  not 
darken  his  hope  or  faith.  Like  the  nightingale,  his 
song  gushed  forth  as  the  shadows  gathered  about  him." 

SYDNEY  HENRY  MOUSE.  Born  in  Rochester,  N.  Y., 
October  3,  1833.  His  youth  was  spent  in  New  York, 
Connecticut,  and  Ohio.  His  education  ended  at  thir- 
319 


NOTES 


teen,  and  he  was  taught  the  stone-cutter's  trade.  At 
about  the  age  of  twenty  he  went  to  Cincinnati,  became 
acquainted  with  Moncure  D.  Conway,  then  minister  of  a 
Unitarian  church  in  that  city.  In  1860  he  went  to  An- 
tioch  College,  which  was  closed  on  the  opening  of  the 
Civil  War.  Then  he  preached  for  a  few  months  at  Fond 
du  Lac,  Wis.,  after  which  he  went  to  Cambridge  and  car- 
ried on  his  studies  in  a  desultory  way,  and  preached 
when  opportunity  offered.  He  occupied  Conway's  pul- 
pit for  a  year  in  Cincinnati,  and  was  then  settled  over 
the  Unitarian  church  in  Haverhill,  Mass.  After  the 
organization  of  the  Unitarian  National  Conference  on 
a  basis  that  seemed  to  him  too  conservative,  he  began 
the  publication  of  "  The  Radical "  in  Boston,  with  Sep- 
tember, 1865 ;  and  it  was  continued  through  ten  vol- 
umes, or  for  seven  years.  In  the  mean  time  he  resigned 
his  pulpit  in  Haverhill  and  abandoned  the  clerical  pro- 
fession. In  1872  he  made  a  bust  of  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
and  then  one  of  Theodore  Parker.  These  were  followed 
by  busts  of  Dr.  Channing  (now  in  the  Arlington  Street 
Church,  Boston),  Thomas  Paine,  Walt  Whitman,  Emer- 
son (in  Second  Church,  Boston),  Lincoln,  and  others. 
He  has  written  for  the  newspapers  and  lectured  through- 
out the  West.  After  spending  some  years  in  Chicago, 
he  removed  to  Buffalo,  where  he  now  lives,  occupied 
with  a  new  bust  of  Emerson.  All  the  poems  selected 
were  printed  in  "  The  Radical." 

JOHN  WEISS.    Born  in  Boston,  June  28,  1818 ;  died 
there  March  9,  1879.     Graduated  at  Harvard  and  Di- 


NOTES 


vinity  School,  and  was  settled  over  Unitarian  churches 
in  Watertown  and  New  Bedford,  and  preached  for  a 
time  in  the  Hollis  Street  Church  in  Boston.  He  was 
a  strong  abolitionist,  and  a  vigorous  follower  of  the 
transcendental  philosophy.  He  published  "  Life  and 
Correspondence  of  Theodore  Parker,"  1864 ;  "  Ameri- 
can Religion,"  1871 ;  "  Immortal  Life,"  1880 ;  and 
other  works.  The  poems  selected  were  printed  in 
"  The  Radical."  No  collection  of  his  poems  has  been 
published. 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON.  Born  in  Cam- 
bridge, December  22,  1823  ;  in  which  city  he  now  lives. 
Graduated  at  Harvard  and  Divinity  School  ;  settled 
over  Unitarian  church  in  Newburyport,  and  Free  Church 
in  Worcester.  In  1858  withdrew  from  the  ministry  to 
devote  himself  to  literature,  and  has  since  been  an  ex- 
tensive contributor  to  periodicals,  lectured  widely,  and 
published  several  volumes  of  fiction,  essays,  and  history. 
He  has  been  connected  with  all  the  later  phases  of  the 
transcendental  movement,  and  adheres  to  its  cardinal 
beliefs.  All  the  poems  selected  have  been  taken  from 
"  The  Afternoon  Landscape :  Poems  and  Translations," 
1888. 

GEORGE  SHEPARD  BURLEIGH.  Born  in  Plainfield, 
Conn.,  March  26,  1821,  has  spent  most  of  his  life  in 
Little  Compton,  R.  I.,  and  now  resides  in  Providence. 
He  published  "Anti-Slavery  Hymns,"  1842;  "The 
Maniac,  and  Other  Poems,"  1849  ;  and  a  translation  of 
Victor  Hugo's  "  La  IxSgende  des  Siecles,"  1867.  He 
321 


NOTES 


has  been  an  editor,  and  a  large  contributor  to  the  peri- 
odical press.  He  was  zealous  in  the  anti-slavery  cause. 
The  poems  selected  were  contributed  to  "  The  Radi- 
cal." 

WILLIAM  HENRY  FURNESS.  Born  in  Boston,  April 
20,  1802;  died  in  Philadelphia,  January  30,  1896. 
Graduated  at  Harvard  and  Divinity  School,  and  was 
minister  of  Unitarian  church  in  Philadelphia  from  1825 
to  1875.  He  published  "  Remarks  on  the  Four  Gos- 
pels,"  1836;  "Jesus  and  his  Biographers,"  1838; 
"  The  Veil  Partly  Lifted,"  1864 ;  "  The  Unconscious 
Truth  of  the  Four  Gospels,"  1868,  and  other  interpre- 
tations of  the  Gospels  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
idealistic  philosophy.  The  poems  selected  are  from  his 
"  Verses  :  Translations  and  Hymns,"  1886. 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  Born  in  Salem,  Mass.,  October 
10,  1822 ;  died  in  North  Andover,  Mass.,  February  19, 
1882.  He  graduated  at  Harvard  and  Divinity  School, 
and  was  settled  over  the  Free  Church  in  Lynn  from 
1853  to  1870.  Then  he  devoted  himself  to  the  writing 
of  a  series  of  books  on  "  Oriental  Religions,"  of  which 
those  on  India,  China,  and  Persia  were  published.  His 
lectures,  essays,  and  sermons  were  edited,  in  1883,  by 
Samuel  Longfellow.  The  poems  selected  are  from 
"  Hymns  of  the  Spirit,"  which  he  edited  in  1864,  in 
connection  with  Samuel  Longfellow. 

SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW.  Born  in  Portland,  Me.,  June 
18,  1819 ;  died  there,  October  3,  1892.  Graduated  at 
Harvard  and  Divinity  School,  and  was  settled  over  Uni- 
322 


NOTES 


tarian  churches  in  Fall  River,  Mass. ;  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. ; 
and  Germantown,  Pa.  In  connection  with  Samuel 
Johnson  he  edited  "  A  Book  of  Hymns,"  1846 ;  and 
"The  Hymns  of  the  Spirit,"  1864.  The  poems  se- 
lected were  first  printed  in  the  latter  book.  His  biogra- 
phy has  been  written  by  Joseph  May. 

ELIZA  SCUDDER.  Born  in  Barnstable,  Mass.,  Novem- 
ber 14,  1821 ;  died  in  Weston,  Mass.,  September  27, 
1896.  Her  "  Hymns  and  Sonnets  "  were  published  in 
1880 ;  and  this  volume  was  republished  by  her  cousin, 
Horace  E.  Scudder,  1896,  who  prefixed  a  brief  memoir. 
Her  "  Hymns  and  Sonnets  "  was  only  a  volume  of  a 
few  pages  when  first  published,  and  even  in  its  enlarged 
form  it  is  of  only  fifty  pages.  It  contains  some  of  the  best 
hymns  written  in  this  country,  however.  Miss  Scud- 
der's  life  was  spent  in  Barnstable,  Salem,  Weston,  and 
Boston,  and  was  one  of  few  events.  She  was  interested 
in  the  anti-slavery  movement,  was  an  earnest  student, 
and  was  deeply  concerned  with  the  problems  of  the  reli- 
gious life.  Her  life  was  "  one  of  much  privation  as  re- 
gards health  and  fixed  conditions,  but  she  retained  to 
the  last  an  unappeasable  hunger  and  thirst  for  intellec- 
tual food,  and  her  companionship  was  a  tonic,  so  invig- 
orating was  her  spontaneous  thought." 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  Born  in  Amherst,  Mass., 
October  18,  1831 ;  died  in  San  Francisco,  August  12, 
1885.  Her  maiden  name  was  Helen  Maria  Fiske.  She 
married  Captain  Hunt,  hence  her  name,  Helen  Hunt, 
"H.  H."  In  1875  she  became  Mrs.  Jackson.  She 
323 


NOTES 


published  "  Verses  by  H.  H.,"  1870 ;  «  Sonnets  and 
Lyrics,"  1876;  "Mercy  Philbrick's  Choice,"  1876; 
"  Hetty's  Strange  History,"  1877  ;  "  A  Century  of  Dis- 
honor," 1881 ;  "  Ramona,"  1884.  She  is  also  thought 
to  have  written  the  "  Saxe  Holm  Stories,"  from  which 
the  last  two  of  the  poems  selected  are  taken. 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL.  Born  in  Windsor,  Conn., 
April  29,  1841 ;  died  in  Cuyahoga  Falls,  O.,  February 
27,  1887.  Graduated  at  Yale,  studied  at  Harvard  Di- 
vinity School,  but  did  not  preach,  and  taught  school  in 
Ohio  and  California  for  several  years.  Was  professor 
of  the  English  language  and  literature  in  the  Univer- 
sity of  California,  1874-1882.  He  published  "  Hermi- 
one,  and  Other  Poems,"  1866 ;  and  "  The  Hermitage, 
and  Other  Poems,"  1867.  After  his  death  were  pub- 
lished "  The  Venus  of  Milo,  and  Other  Poems,"  1888  ; 
and  "  Essays,"  1900.  In  1902  his  complete  poems 
were  published. 

JULIA  WARD  HOWE.  Born  in  New  York  city,  May 
27,  1819,  married  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe  in  1843,  and 
has  since  resided  in  Boston.  Published  "  Passion  Flow- 
ers," 1854 ;  "  Words  for  the  Hour,"  1856  ;  "  A  Trip  to 
Cuba,"  1860  ;  "  Later  Lyrics,"  1866  ;  "  From  the  Oak 
to  the  Olive,"  1868  ;  «  Modern  Society,"  1881 ;  "  Is 
Polite  Society  Polite  ?  and  Other  Essays,"  1895  ;  "  From 
Sunset  Ridge,"  from  which  the  poems  selected  have 
been  taken,  1898  ;  "  Reminiscences,"  1899.  Mrs.  Howe 
has  closely  identified  herself  with  several  phases  of  the 
later  transcendentalism. 


NOTES 


EDNAH  Dow  CHENEY.  Born  in  Boston,  June  27, 
1824,  daughter  of  S.  S.  Littlehale.  Married  Seth  Wells 
Cheney,  the  artist  Has  taken  an  active  part  in  promot- 
ing interests  of  women,  has  lectured  much,  and  has  been 
prominently  connected  with  the  Chestnut  Street  Club, 
Free  Religious  Association,  and  the  Concord  School  of 
Philosophy.  Mrs.  Cheney  lives  in  Jamaica  Plain,  a 
suburb  of  Boston.  She  has  published  "  Faithful  to  the 
Light,"  1870 ;  "  Sally  Williams,  the  Mountain  Girl," 
1872  ;  "  Child  of  the  Tide,"  1874 ;  "  Life  of  Dr.  Susan 
Dimock,"  1875  ;  "  Gleanings  in  the  Fields  of  Art," 
1881 ;  "  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals  of  Louisa  M.  Al- 
cott,"  1889  ;  and  "  Stories  of  the  Olden  Time,"  1890. 
The  poems  selected  are  taken  from  the  appendix  to  her 
"  Reminiscences,"  1902. 

JOHN  BURROUGHS.  Born  in  Roxbury,  N.  Y.,  April 
3,  1837,  and  now  lives  at  West  Park  on  the  Hudson 
River.  He  is  well  known  for  his  books  on  outdoor  sub- 
jects, from  "  Wake  Robin,"  1871,  to  "  Signs  and  Sea- 
sons," 1886.  He  has  been  an  ardent  follower  of  Emer- 
son and  Whitman.  He  has  published  only  a  few  poems. 
His  "  Waiting  "  was  printed  as  a  preface  to  the  "  Light 
of  Day."  The  other  poem  appeared  in  his  "  Nature 
Poems,"  a  volume  of  selections,  1902. 

FRANKLIN  BENJAMIN  SANBORN.  Born  in  Hampton 
Falls,  N.  H.,  December  15,  1831 ;  and  has  lived  in 
Concord,  Mass.,  for  many  years.  He  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Thoreau,  Emerson,  Alcott,  and  the  other  Con- 
cord literary  people.  Has  been  editor  of  "  Boston  Com- 


NOTES 


monwealth,"  "  Springfield  Republican,"  and  secretary  of 
Massachusetts  State  Board  of  Charities.  He  has  pub- 
lished biographies  of  Thoreau,  John  Brown,  and  Dr. 
Samuel  G.  Howe.  He  has  not  collected  his  poems,  but 
they  have  appeared  in  Emerson's  "  Parnassus,"  "  Con- 
cord Lectures  in  Philosophy,"  and  Stedman's  "  Ameri- 
can Anthology."  The  poem  on  Emerson  was  read  at 
the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy,  in  1882,  and  is  the 
concluding  part  of  "  The  Poet's  Countersign." 

JOHN  ALBEE.  Born  in  Bellingham,  Mass.,  April  3, 
1833,  and  has  resided  for  many  years  at  New  Castle, 
N.  H.,  but  has  recently  removed  to  Chocorua,  in  the 
same  State.  He  has  published  "  Literary  Art,"  1881 ; 
"  Poems,"  1883  ;  "  Prose  Idyls,"  1892  ;  "  Reminiscences 
of  Emerson,"  1901.  He  lectured  at  the  Concord  School 
of  Philosophy  on  poetry. 

JOEL  BENTON.  Born  in  Amenia,  N.  Y.,  May  29, 1832 ; 
and  has  lived  in  that  place  and  in  Poughkeepsie.  He 
has  been  a  teacher,  editor,  and  a  frequent  contributor 
to  the  periodical  press.  He  has  published  "  Emerson  as 
a  Poet,"  1882 ;  and  "  In  the  Poe  Circle,"  1899.  His 
poems  have  not  been  collected. 

AUGUSTA  COOPER  BRISTOL.  Born  in  Croydon,  N.  H., 
April  17,  1835,  her  father  being  Otis  Cooper.  Married 
Louis  Bristol  in  1866.  Has  been  lecturer  and  teacher, 
and  has  resided  for  many  years  in  Vineland,  N.  J.  She 
has  published  "  Poems,"  1868  ;  "  The  Relation  of  the 
Maternal  Function  to  the  Woman's  Intellect,"  1876 ; 
"  The  Philosophy  of  Art,"  1878  ;  "  The  Present  Phase 
326 


NOTES 


of  Woman's  Advancement,"  1880  ;  "  Science  and  the 
Basis  of  Morality,"  1880 ;  and  "  The  Web  of  Life " 
(poems),  1895.  The  poems  selected  were  originally 
published  in  "  The  Radical." 

ANNA  CALLENDEB  BKACKETT.  Born  in  Boston,  May 
21,  1836.  Teacher  in  normal  schools,  and  for  twenty 
years  principal  of  girls'  private  school  in  New  York  city. 
She  was  nine  years  principal  of  the  St.  Louis  Normal 
School.  Has  written  much  on  educational  subjects, 
and  has  published  "Education  of  American  Girls," 
1874 ;  "  Technique  of  Rest,"  1892.  Her  poems  have 
not  been  collected.  Those  selected  first  appeared  in 
"  The  Radical,"  but  the  last  one  in  "  The  Journal  of 
Speculative  Philosophy." 

FBANCIS  ELLINGWOOD  ABBOT.  Born  in  Boston,  No- 
vember 6,  1836.  Graduated  at  Harvard,  and  was  set- 
tled over  Unitarian  church  in  Dover,  N.  H.  In  1870 
began  in  Toledo,  0.,  publication  of  "  The  Index,"  which 
was  removed  to  Boston  in  1873,  and  was  continued  till 
1889.  He  was  an  active  exponent  of  Free  Religion 
until  1880,  when  he  became  a  teacher.  For  several  years 
he  has  been  writing  an  extended  work  in  philosophy. 
He  has  published  "  Scientific  Theism,"  1885  ;  "  The 
Way  Out  of  Agnosticism,"  1890.  The  poems  selected 
were  printed  in  "  The  Index "  during  the  first  year  of 
its  existence. 

JOHN  WHITE  CHAD  WICK.  Born  in  Marblehead,  Mass., 
October  19,  1840.  He  has  been  minister  of  the  Second 
Unitarian  Society  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  since  1864.  He 
327 


NOTES 


has  published  biographies  of  Sallie  Holley,  Theodore 
Parker,  and  Dr.  Charming,  and  many  volumes  of  ser- 
mons, as  well  as  several  theological  works.  He  has  also 
published  "  A  Book  of  Poems,"  1876 ;  "  In  Nazareth 
Town,  and  Other  Poems,"  1883 ;  "  A  Legend  of  Good 
Poets,"  1885  ;  and  "  A  Few  Verses,"  1900. 

WILLIAM  CHANNING  GANNETT.  Born  in  Boston, 
March  13,  1840.  Has  been  settled  over  Unitarian 
churches  in  Milwaukee,  Wis. ;  Lexington,  Mass. ;  St. 
Paul,  Minn. ;  Hinsdale,  111.  ;  and  Rochester,  N.  Y.  He 
has  published  two  volumes  of  "  The  Thought  of  God  in 
Hymns  and  Poems,"  in  connection  with  Frederick  L. 
Hosmer,  1885,  1894. 

FREDERICK  LUCIAN  HOSMER.  Born  in  Framingham, 
Mass.,  October  16,  1840.  Has  been  settled  over  Unita- 
rian churches  in  Northboro,  Mass. ;  Quincy,  111. ;  Cleve- 
land, 0.;  St.  Louis,  Mo.;  and  Berkeley,  Cal.  His 
poems  have  appeared  in  connection  with  those  of  Wil- 
liam C.  Gannett. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


INDEX  OF  FIKST  LINES 

A  bird  sang  sweet  and  strong,  149. 

Ah !  what  avails  it  thus  to  dream  of  thee,  139. 

All  the  eyes  I  ever  knew,  142. 

All  the  forms  are  fugitive,  39. 

All  things  are  current  found,  73. 

All  things  in  Nature  are  beautiful  types  to  the  soul  that  will  read 

them,  86. 

Along  the  scholar's  glowing  page,  289. 
An  easy  thing,  O  Power  Divine,  192. 
Angels  of  growth,  of  old  in  that  surprise,  166. 
Art  Thou  the  Life,  287. 
As  children  of  the  Infinite  Soul,  202. 
As  two  birds  journeying  from  different  lands,  260. 
As  unto  blowing  roses  summer  dews,  172. 
At  first  I  prayed  for  sight,  246. 
A  voice  from  the  sea  to  the  mountains,  126. 

Beauty  may  be  the  path  to  highest  good,  128. 

Be  still  and  sleep,  my  soul,  234. 

Blest  spirit  of  my  life,  oh,  stay,  183. 

Blindfolded  and  alone  I  stand,  225. 

Bring,  O  Morn,  thy  music,  Bring,  O  Night,  thy  hushes,  297. 

Central  axis,  pole  of  pole,  190. 

Channing !  my  Mentor  whilst  my  thought  was  young,  59. 

Close  are  the  shadows  and  dim  is  the  day,  270. 

Conscience  is  instinct  bred  in  the  house,  69. 

Consolers  of  the  solitary  hours,  163. 

Dost  thou,  beloved,  see,  259. 
Dry  lighted  soul,  the  ray  that  shines  in  thee,  136. 
331 


INDEX  OF  FIRST   LINES 


Enchantress,  touch  no  more  that  strain,  260. 

Father,  in  thy  mysterious  presence  kneeling,  208. 

Father,  I  wait  thy  word.     The  sun  doth  stand,  153. 

Father,  I  will  not  ask  for  wealth  or  fame,  161. 

Father !  Thy  wonders  do  not  singly  stand,  154. 

Foot  surer  than  his,  crossing  o'er,  283. 

Forenoon  and  afternoon  and  night,  —  Forenoon,  231. 

For  the  rapt  stillness  of  the  place,  218. 

For  this  true  nobleness  I  seek  in  vain,  52. 

Fret  not  that  the  day  is  done,  180. 

From  past  regret  and  present  faithlessness,  215. 

From  street  and  square,  from  hill  and  glen,  193. 

Gird  thee,  gird  thee,  soldier  strong,  180. 

Give,  —  you  need  not  see  the  face,  241. 

God  is  not  dumb,  that  he  should  speak  no  more,  50. 

God  of  those  splendid  stars !  I  need,  122. 

God  sends  his  teachers  unto  every  age,  51. 

Great  God,  I  ask  thee  for  no  meaner  pelf,  67. 

Hath  this  world,  without  me  wrought,  114. 

Heart,  heart,  lie  still,  128. 

He  omnipresent  is,  53. 

He  touched  the  earth,  a  soul  of  flame,  129. 

How  they  go  by  —  those  strange  and  dreamlike  men,  133. 

I  am  but  clay  in  thy  hands,  but  thou  art  the  all-loving  artist, 

92. 

I  am  immortal !  I  know  it !  I  feel  it,  83. 
I  cannot  find  Thee !  still  on  restless  pinion,  222. 
I  cannot  think  but  God  must  know,  229. 
I  challenge  not  the  oracle,  176. 
I  hear  it  often  in  the  dark,  301. 
I  idle  stand,  that  I  may  find  employ,  155. 
I  lie  upon  the  earth  and  feed  upon  the  sky,  141. 
I  like  a  church  ;  I  like  a  cowl,  36. 
I  look  to  thee  in  every  need,  211. 


INDEX  OF  FIEST  LINES 

I  love  the  universe,  —  I  love  the  joy,  107. 

Infinite  Spirit !  who  art  round  us  ever,  111. 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes,  35. 

In  the  summer  nights,  when  the  world's  tumult  stills,  263 

In  times  of  old,  as  we  are  told,  80. 

I  saw  on  earth  another  light,  156. 

I  sit  within  my  room,  and  joy  to  find,  153. 

I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty,  128. 

I  sprang  on  life's  free  course,  I  tasked  myself,  133. 

I  still  can  suffer  pain,  109. 

It  singeth  low  in  every  heart,  295. 

It  sounds  along  the  ages,  299. 

I  walked  beside  the  evening  sea,  149. 

I  wandered  with  an  earnest  heart,  274. 

I  will  build  a  house  of  rest,  243. 

Lady,  there  is  a  hope  that  all  men  have,  102. 

Life  of  Ages,  richly  poured,  209. 

Life  of  our  life,  and  Light  of  all  our  seeing,  217. 

Like  a  blind  spinner  in  the  sun,  227. 

Like  a  cradle- rocking,  rocking,  230. 

Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown,  33. 

Lonely  these  meadows  green,  256. 

Lo,  the  strong  eagle,  through  the  storm  and  night,  278, 

Maiden,  when  such  a  soul  as  thine  is  born,  45. 

Misfortune  to  have  lived  not  knowing  thee,  59. 

Music 's  the  measure  of  the  planet's  motion,  119. 

My  highway  is  unf  eatured  air,  106. 

My  life  is  like  a  stroll  upon  the  beach,  74 

My  love  for  thee  has  grown  as  grows  the  flowers,  145. 

Myriad  roses  fade  unheeded,  194. 

Nature  doth  have  her  dawn  each  day,  62. 
Nor  elsewise  man  shall  fellow  meet,  54. 
Not  from  the  earth  or  skies,  157. 
Not  through  Nature  shineth,  176. 
Not  where  long-passed  ages  sleep,  120. 
333 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


O  Friend  divine,  this  promise  dear,  77. 

Of  the  heaven  is  generation,  240. 

O  God,  our  Father,  if  we  had  but  truth,  233. 

O  God,  who,  in  thy  dear  still  heaven,  135. 

Oh  loiterer,  that  dalliest  with  thy  dreams,  147. 

Oh,  many  trees  watch  East,  186. 

Oh,  melancholy  liberty,  136. 

Oh,  minstrel  of  these  borean  hills,  252. 

O  Love  Divine,  of  all  that  is,  292. 

O  love  is  weak,  224. 

One  holy  church  of  God  appears,  212. 

One  thought  I  have,  my  ample  creed,  303. 

Only  as  thou  herein  canst  not  see  me,  44. 

O  tall  old  pine  !  O  gloomy  pine,  127. 

O  thou  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men,  161. 

O  Thou,  in  all  thy  might  so  far,  304. 

Our  love  is  not  a  fading  earthly  flower,  48. 

Out  of  the  chaos  dawns  in  sight,  53. 

Packed  in  my  mind  lie  all  the  clothes,  71. 

Power,  reft  of  aspiration,  240.  * 

Praise,  praise  ye  the  prophets,  the  sages,  94. 

Serene,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait,  251. 

Slowly  along  the  crowded  street  I  go,  145. 

Slowly  by  thy  hand  unfurled,  206. 

Slowly  the  sun  climbs  up  the  amber  east,  286. 

Somewhere  await  the  treasures  we  have  strewn,  269. 

Such  a  noon  as  Thought  has  made,  184. 

Sweep  ho  !  sweep  ho,  134. 

Sweet  is  the  pleasure,  117. 

Sweet-voiced  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse,  169. 

Takes  sunbeams,  spring  waters,  57. 
Tell  me,  brother,  what  are  we,  89. 
That  regal  soul  I  reverence,  in  whose  eyes,  173. 
That  you  are  fair  or  wise  is  vain,  41. 
The  Bible  is  a  book  worthy  to  read,  97. 
334 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

The  bird  sings  not  in  winter  time,  47. 

The  bubbling  brook  doth  leap  when  I  come  by,  159. 

The  bush  that  has  most  berries  and  bitter  fruit,  151. 

The  child-eyed  wonder  with  which  life  began,  264. 

The  day  is  done,  the  weary  day  of  thought  and  toil  is  past, 

220. 

The  Law  which  spheres  the  hugest  sun,  200. 
The  Night  has  gathered  up  her  moonlit  fringes,  266. 
The  old  man  said,  Take  thou  this  shield,  my  son,  163. 
The  poet's  words  are  winged  with  fire,  262. 
The  soul  I  dwell  within,  178. 
The  stars  know  a  secret,  235. 
The  temple  round,  75. 
The  Truth  shall  bind,  quoth  he,  175. 
The  truths  we  cannot  win  are  fruit  forbidden,  195. 
The  two  best  gifts  in  all  the  perfect  world,  281. 
The  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high,  166. 
Therefore  think  not  the  Past  is  wise  alone,  46. 
There  is  a  sighing  in  the  wood,  158. 
There  is  a  vale  which  none  hath  seen,  68. 
They  find  the  way  who  linger  where,  179. 
They  pass  me  by  like  shadows,  crowds  on  crowds,  49. 
They  who  sing  the  deeds  of  men,  105. 
This  bright  wood-fire,  137. 

Though  hunger  sharpens  in  the  dream  of  food,  199. 
Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech,  85. 
Thou  Grace  Divine,  encircling  all,  214. 
Thou  hast  learned  the  woes  of  all  the  world,  143. 
Thou  long  disowned,  reviled,  opprest,  216. 
Thou,  so  far,  we  grope  to  grasp  thee,  95. 
Thou  Soul  that  over-lightest  mine,  285. 
Thou  spark  of  life  that  wavest  wings  of  gold,  196. 
Thou  tellest  truths  unspoken  yet  by  man,  155. 
T  is  not  in  seeking,  238. 
To  do  the  tasks  of  life,  and  be  not  lost,  182. 
T  was  a  vision,  a  dream  of  the  night,  280. 

Utter  no  whisper  of  thy  human  speech,  146. 
335 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Waken  in  Thy  likeness,  meet  Thee  face  to  face,  249. 

We  are  centred  deeper  far,  104. 

Weary,  and  marred  with  care  and  pain,  237. 

Whate'er  the  Name,  whate'er  the  Power,  248. 

Whate'er  we  leave  to  God,  God  does,  63. 

What  is  this  that  stirs  within,  205. 

What  may  we  take  into  the  vast  Forever,  231. 

When  in  a  hook  I  find  a  pleasant  thought,  44. 

When  the  night  is  still  and  far,  298. 

When  thou  approachest  to  the  One,  53. 

Where  is  that  good,  which  wise  men  please  to  call,  54. 

Who  counts  himself  as  nohly  born,  131. 

Wilt  Thou  not  visit  me,  151. 

With  dauntless  eye  the  lofty  one,  141. 

Within  the  unpainted  cottage  dwell,  101. 

With  joys  unknown,  with  sadness  unconfessed,  254. 

With  the  rush  and  whirl  of  the  fleet  wild  brook,  108. 

With  what  a  deep  and  ever  deeper  joy,  148. 

Work,  and  thou  wilt  bless  the  day,  118. 

You  go  to  the  woods  —  what  there  have  you  seen,  142. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Ad  Anna  I    147. 
Afternoon,  141. 
All 's  Well,  169. 
Anathemata,  254. 
Approaching  God,  53. 
Ars  Poetica  et  Humana,  259. 
Art  and  Artist,  141. 
Art-Service,  274. 
Auld  Lang  Syne,  295. 

Bankrupt,  The,  148. 
Barberry-Bush,  The,  151. 
Beauty  and  Duty,  128. 
Beethoven,  278. 
Bibliolatres,  50. 
Birth-Day  Prayer,  A,  287. 
Blest  Spirit  of  My  Life,  183. 
Brook,  The,  142. 

Chimney-Sweep,  The,  134. 
Church  Universal,  The,  212. 
Comprehension,  283. 
Confessio  Amantis,  109. 
Conscience,  69. 
Consolers,  The,  163. 
Content,  101. 
Correspondences,  86. 

Dare  and  Do,  199. 
Denial,  281. 
Divine  Teachers,  51. 
Dr.  Channing,  59. 
Dryad  Song,  83. 


Each  and  All,  33. 
Ebb  and  Flow,  149. 
Emerson,  59. 
Emerson,  255. 
Encouragement,  77. 
Eternal  Pan,  The,  39. 
Eternity,  146. 
Evening,  206. 
Excellence,  54. 

Fate,  41. 

Force,  235. 

For  Divine  Strength,  208. 

Four  White  Lilies,  280. 

Frankness  of  Nature,  The,  44. 

Friendship,  54. 

"  Future  is  better  than  the  Past, 

The,"  120. 
Future,  The,  231. 

Gnosis,  85. 

Goal,  The,  133. 

Godward,  285. 

Golden     Crown     Sparrow     of 

Alaska,  252. 
Great  Voices,  The,  126. 

Health  of  Body  dependent  on 

the  Soul,  157. 
Heart's  Cure,  The,  128. 
Heirs  of  Time,  193. 
Hero,  The,  143. 
Herzliebste,  145. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Higher  Good,  The,  161. 

Highway,  The,  298. 

House  of  Rest,  The,  243. 

Human  Helpers,  94. 

Hymn,  229. 

Hymn  and  Prayer,  111. 

Hymn  of  a  Spirit  shrouded,  135. 

Hymn  to  the  Earth,  106. 

Hymn  to  the  God  of  Stars,  122. 

Ideals,  165. 

Ideal  wins,  The,  199. 

I  in  Thee,  and  Thou  in  Me,  92. 

Idler,  The,  155. 

Immanuel,  200. 

Inspiration,  63. 

Inspiration,  209. 

Inward  Morning,  The,  71. 

"I   shall    be   satisfied   when   I 

awake   with    Thy   likeness," 

249. 

Jar  of  Rose-Leaves,  A,  194. 

Life,  231. 

Life  a  Temple,  75. 

Light  from  within,  The,  156. 

Lines,  73. 

Lines,  142. 

Listening  for  God,  301. 

Looking  unto  God,  211. 

Love  against  Love,  172. 

Love's  Fulfilling,  224. 

Love  of  God,  The,  214. 

Love  of  God,  The,  230. 

Love  reflected  in  Nature,  48. 


Man,  53. 


Matter,  53. 
Method,  190. 


Music,  119. 

Music  and  Memory,  260. 

My  Life,  74. 

My  Prayer,  67. 

Mystery  of  God,  The,  304. 

My  Two  Quests,  186. 

Nature,  107. 
Nature,  159. 
Nirvana,  289. 
Nobly  Born,  The,  131. 
No  More  Sea,  217. 
"  Not  as  I  Will,"  225. 

Ocean,  The,  89. 

Ode  to  a  Butterfly,  196. 

Old  Song  and  the  New,  The,  270. 

One  about  to  die,  136. 

Open  Secret,  176. 

Our  Birthright,  202. 

Peace,  238. 

Poet,  The,  129. 

Poet,  The,  262. 

Poet's  Hope,  A,  102. 

Poet's  Obedience,  The,  44. 

Prayer,  246. 

Prayer,  A,  233. 

Prayer,  The,  151. 

Presence,  The,  153. 

Price  of  the  Divina  Commedia, 

The,  241. 
Primavera,  the  Breath  of  Spring, 

108. 
Problem,  The,  36. 

Quest,  The,  222. 
Questionings,  114. 


Remembered  Love,  260. 
Rest,  117. 
340 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Rhodora,  The,  35. 

To  Irene  on  her  Birthday,  45. 

Royalty,  173. 

To  the  Ideal,  139. 

Rumors  from  an  JEoH&n  Harp, 

To  the  Poets,  105. 

68. 

To  R.  W.  E.,  136. 

Tranquillity,  237. 

Saadi's  Thinking,  184. 

True  Nobleness,  52. 

Seen  and  Unseen,  166. 

Truth,  216. 

Seer's  Rations,  The,  57. 

Two  Moods,  175. 

Service,  180. 

Shield,  The,  163. 

Una,  104. 

Silent,  The,  158. 

So  Far,  So  Near,  95. 

Vesper  Hymn,  220. 

Somewhere,  269. 

Via  Sacra,  145. 

Son,  The,  153. 

Victory,  The,  182. 

Song  of  Trust,  A,  292. 

Violet,  The,  155. 

Sonl,  The,  205. 

Voice  of  the  Pine,  The,  127. 

Spinning,  227. 

Spring  Song,  149. 

Waifs,  180. 

Spirit-Land,  The,  154. 

Waiting,  251. 

Stanzas,  62. 

Waiting  Help,  248. 

Stanzas,  240. 

Warning,  240. 

Straight  Road,  The,  128. 

Way,  The,  179. 

Street,  The,  49. 

Wayfarers,  133. 

Suh  Rosa,  Cruz,  80. 

Weltschmerz,  264. 

Summer    Morning    Hour    with 

WhippoorwiU,  The,  263. 

Nature,  A,  266. 

Whom  but  Thee,  215. 

Sundered,  176. 

Who  wert,  and  art,  and  ever- 

mere  shalt  be,  297. 

Till  Love  be  Whole,  178. 

Wiegenlied,  234. 

Thanksgiving,  218. 
The  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life, 

Winter,  47. 
Wisdom  of    the  Eternal    One, 

161. 

46. 

Things  I  miss,  The,  192. 
Thought  of  God,  The,  303. 
Thoughts,  97. 

Wood-Fire,  The,  137. 
Word  of  God,  The,  299. 
Work  while  it  is  Day,  118. 

341 


EUctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &•  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LD-URI 


JS 


JUL  2  2  J982 


M r* n  i  ^  '' 

MftR  C  b  1085 

RFC'D  LD-URt 


1  8  1990 
?D  \ft  ' 

8  1990 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


